The One I'm Fighting For
by Shakespeare's Lemonade
Summary: Sam died finishing the trials. Dean's last act before he joins his brother is going to be rescuing a fallen angel, but when he finds Castiel just as broken as he is and in need of help, death has to wait, and in the meantime, Dean might find another reason to live. Warnings: major character death, suicidal thoughts, no pairings, AU of season 9.
1. Last Acts

The One I'm Fighting For

Shakespeare's Lemonade

Rating: T

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Friendship

Summary: Sam died finishing the trials. Dean's last act before he joins his brother is going to be rescuing a fallen angel, but when he finds Castiel just as broken as he is and in need of help, death has to wait, and in the meantime, Dean might find another reason to live.

A/N: This story is an AU of what might have happened if Sam had finished the third trial. So, it diverts from the main plot of season nine in a major way: no Abaddon, a human Crowley, no Ezekiel possessing Sam; and, you know, Sam being dead. No pairings so far, just the unhealthy codependency we're used to on the show.

Warnings: major character death, suicidal thoughts, the usual.

_"I will fight for you, if it's all I do."~Article One_

**Chapter One "Last Acts"**

It's raining angels, and Sam is dead. Crowley is in tears. Not about Sam, but what does it matter? Dean's whole life has just fallen apart in spite of the fact that the gates of Hell are now closed. He couldn't care less if the demon bastards wanted to overrun the Earth. He'd have taken them all on single handedly if it meant keeping his brother safe.

But it's too late. Dean had tried to warn Sam, but he hadn't listened. Just went through with the whole thing, knowing it'd end with him dead. Sam had been okay with that.

Dean is not.

Dean is so far from okay, staring at his brother's body, curled up on the floor. Sam's convulsions and Dean's shouts are over. There's no blood. No broken bones. No blaze of glory. Sam just gave up. Dean begged him to stop. He hears the words he never quite said echoing in his head:

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

He had meant it. Along with every word he actually did say. Sam had to know what would happen if he chose to go through with the last trial. He had to know there was only one option for Dean.

"He's dead." Crowley sounds surprised as he stares at the body by his feet.

Dean would like nothing more at this moment than to shoot the demon son of a bitch. Except he isn't a demon anymore, and Sam's last act on Earth was turning Crowley human. The least Dean can do is let the guy deal with it.

"You're not just gonna leave me here?" Crowley says as Dean turns toward the doorway. He sounds worried. Afraid.

Dean looks back. "No," he says. "You're gonna help me dig."

Because Dean has been through this whole circus before, and he's not going to draw it out any more. He's going to bury his brother, check on Cas, send Crowley off into the sunset, and then he's going to find a nice big cliff to drive off of. Every moment between now and then will be pure agony, but Dean, of all people, is used to that.

Crowley is slow, and Dean just about whacks him with his shovel a couple of times. This is going to take long enough as it is. Of course, it would go faster with Sam, but Sam wouldn't be digging his own grave, now would he?

At least there's the absence of Crowley's usual snarky attitude. Maybe it's being human, but he seems very... un-Crowley. It's a little freaky actually, and Dean is glad he won't be around long enough to find out what a demon-turned-human looks like on a day to day basis.

When the hole is done, Dean realizes that he actually has to go back into the church and carry out Sam's body.

"Wait here," he says as he walks away from Crowley, not waiting for a response. He doesn't get one.

Dean knows Sam is bigger than him, and it would be easier to carry him with help, but there's no one living Dean would allow to touch his brother right now. Sam is right where Dean left him, curled in on himself, an ugly burn on his arm the only sign anything happened to him. He was already pale, but death has turned his skin ashen.

The church is silent. Broken glass and empty chains tell the story of what happened here. But it's over now. Dean gets down on his knees beside Sam and pulls his brother up to a sitting position. He pushes back the hair that's fallen in Sam's face.

Dean wishes he could think of something to say. He knows Sam can't hear him, but he feels like he should tell him it's okay, that everything's gonna be fine, and they'll see each other soon. But he can't. There's too much to deal with between now and then. It might as well be a lifetime.

Pulling Sam closer so that his head rests on Dean's shoulder, Dean lets out a shaky breath. He knows what Sam would say. That he should move on, live a life free of all the blood and chaos that characterized their entire existence. How could he? How could Dean let go of everything that connected him to Sam? Even if he did last through the day. Which he won't. Once this is over, once everyone is okay, Dean will join Sam. For now, though, he has to bury his brother.

Carrying Sam outside is easier than it should be. Dean has always carried Sam, and somehow, he's always known it would be like this. Dean was always going to bury Sam. All that talk of destiny was a bunch of crap. Sam and Dean had made their own destiny. It was their actions that led them here. This is the inevitable end because of the choices they made. Dean wonders if there's any part of it he would take back, knowing how it all turned out. He would have fought Sam harder to be the one to do the trials. Because Sam could have lived without Dean. Dean can't live without Sam.

Crowley stands there beside the grave, silent and serious. He doesn't say anything when Dean lays Sam in the ground. He holds his shovel, waiting for the order to fill the hole.

Dean wishes like crazy he had the guts to kill Crowley, more because he doesn't want him there than any real anger at the man himself. He had been a demon, done what demons do. Who could blame him? It's not his fault Sam is dead, and he seems to actually be upset by it.

"You can go," Dean says, kneeling in the dirt. He'll fill in the grave by himself.

Crowley looks down at him, confused. "Where would I go?" he asks, and his voice sounds as if it's being weighed down by something so heavy it threatens to suffocate both of them.

Dean doesn't have an answer. He doesn't know what the hell Crowley is supposed to do now. He didn't think that far ahead. He wants to say he doesn't care, but that's not true. Crowley is here because of Sam. Dean cares immensely.

So, he only nods and stands up, reaching for the other shovel. He doesn't look at Sam as he pours cold dirt over his body. It's not Sam anymore in that hole. He's long gone.

It's dark when they finish, and Crowley's got blisters on his hands. He doesn't complain, but Dean can tell he's worn out from all the work. Probably hungry too. Dean knows he shouldn't care, but he does. As he puts the shovels away and gathers the last of their things from the church, Dean has a feeling this is going to take longer than he initially thought.

And then the angels start falling from the sky.

**~oOo~**

The King of Hell is riding shotgun. Dean wishes this were a strange occurrence for him. He had sent Crowley on a shopping spree with one of his many credit cards. Apparently, the former demon didn't like wearing the same clothes for days and had very particular tastes. Dean had taken that time to get some food.

Now he waits in the car outside the department store, thinking this is taking too long. He had hoped to be long since on the road. He hasn't heard from Cas yet, which is unsettling. Maybe Heaven is closed and those other angels fell to escape. Maybe he'll never see Cas again. That thought really shouldn't bother Dean since he's planning on taking a trip in that direction soon anyway. But it does.

On top of all that, the gates of Hell might be closed, but there are hundreds, if not thousands, of angels wandering around the Earth with no idea what they've gotten themselves into. Dean hopes against hope that Cas made it out too. They're going to need him.

Not that it matters because Dean is leaving soon.

When Crowley returns to the car, he's looking happier, though he walks stiffly. Probably from his hours of digging. Now that he's without his demonic powers, Crowley is going to have to get used to aches and pains like everyone else. Dean still hasn't fully thought through what's going to become of Crowley now that he's human. Maybe Crowley hasn't really thought about it either because he seems to be in a decent mood.

That is, until he gets in the car and sees the fast food bag on the middle of the seat. "How do you eat that stuff?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. "It's good enough for Death; it's good enough for me."

"Planning on visiting your old friend sometime soon?" Crowley has always been straight to the nerve.

"Maybe," Dean says. "First I gotta figure out what to do with you."

"Why must you do something with me?"

"I did say you could leave. You didn't."

"And why is that, hmm? I should think you had me right where you wanted me."

"Yeah well... You caught me in a good mood."

Crowley scoffs. "Hardly. You're brother's dead, and you're not angry at all. And how could you be? It was his choice, wasn't it? No, you're so far beyond angry. But that's not why you didn't kill me."

"Don't make me change my mind." Dean pushes the food toward Crowley, and his phone rings. Thankfully. It's a number he doesn't recognize, but he doesn't care right now and answers quickly. "Yeah?"

"Dean?" A frightened voice comes across the line.

"Cas? Where are you?"

"I'm not entirely sure." There are highway noises in the background. "It was a setup, Dean. Metatron didn't want to close all the angels in Heaven, he wanted to cast them all out."

"So that was the meteor shower earlier. All the angels are on Earth now?"

"Yes. And that's not all."

"Look, you can tell me all about it back at the bunker."

"That's just the problem, Dean. I can't get there."

"Why not?"

"The third part of the spell. Metatron took my grace. I'm human now."

Dean feels his stomach drop and his heart rise to his throat. All his plans, his intentions go out the window with those words. He can't leave Cas stranded, and the fact that he's human brings on a whole other mountain of issues.

"Okay," Dean says. "Just figure out where you are, and we'll come find you."

He doesn't have a choice. He only wants to die, but he can't just yet. Cas needs him. And that matters.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. This is my first multi-chapter Supernatural story, so I'd love to know how I'm doing and whether readers are interested for me to continue. Also, this story hasn't been betaed. I will try to remedy that._


	2. Going Home

**Chapter Two "Going Home"**

It's morning by the time Dean sees a sign for the town Castiel had indicated the night before. Twelve miles. Crowley is sleeping in the passenger seat. They haven't stopped since Dean got Cas' call. Last night's burrito wrappers are still sitting between them. The radio's been on all night, drowning out Crowley's soft snores. Dean still can't believe he's here. This shouldn't be happening. None of it. Sam should be complaining about the music, about the mess, worrying about Cas. Sam shouldn't be dead.

It's been hours, and Dean still can't think straight. So many times, he's contemplated driving off the highway. He could pick up enough speed to send the Impala up in flames. The thought upsets Dean, slightly, but he knows that's how he'll go. Soon enough.

Maybe he's even happy at getting to see Cas again, to say goodbye. Not in so many words. Cas would try to stop him. At least Dean will get a chance to tell Cas... tell him what? Good times? Not really. He'll say something, but Dean doesn't know what it is yet.

His thoughts are broken when he sees a figure walking slowly along the side of the highway. The tan coat and the slumped shoulders are unmistakable. Dean pulls to a stop so quickly, it jolts Crowley awake. Dean doesn't have time to register the other man's shock as he gets out of the car, almost running toward his friend. He's seen the blood on Cas' clothes.

"You okay?" Dean asks breathlessly.

Cas looks at him, and there's something completely foreign in his eyes, a fear or sadness Dean has never seen before. "I ran into trouble," he says.

Dean forces a smile. "Looks like it. Whose blood is that?"

"Her name was Hael. The angels are coming after me."

"Why?"

Cas gives Dean an incredulous look. "Because I closed the gates of Heaven. Not to mention... everything else."

"But it wasn't your fault," Dean argues. He's arguing with himself. He wants to believe Cas will be okay.

"I'm the scapegoat, Dean," Cas replies solemnly. "You won't be safe with me."

"Shut up. It'll be fine. We just gotta get you some clean clothes and get back to the Batcave."

The begin to walk back toward the car when Cas notices Crowley standing beside the passenger door. "When you said 'we'..." Cas trails off. "Where's Sam?" There's real fear in his voice now.

"Sam completed the trials," Crowley says.

"He's dead?" Cas is still looking at Dean, finding his answers in the sad eyes and clenched fists of his friend.

"We should go," Dean says, continuing to the driver's door. "Cas gets shotgun."

"Of course, because you two are so close." Crowley sounds a little bit like himself again, but the jab is weak. He doesn't put much effort into it.

Everything is falling apart, and things just became much more complicated. Cas will need protecting now that he's human. Crowley will need watching. Kevin still needs looking after.

Dean can't leave yet. The realization hits him worse than watching his brother die. Because as Sam was dying, Dean was thinking of dying along with him. He can't now. He won't admit it yet, but he knows. As much as he wants to die, Dean knows he can't because too many people are counting on him. Just not Sam. Not the only one Dean needs in order to keep on fighting.

**~oOo~**

There are too many stops between picking up Cas and returning to the bunker. Of course, it doesn't take as long to find clothes for the former angel as it did for the persnickety ex-King of Hell. But there's another stop that inherently eats up more times. It's the first line of defense, and it's Cas' idea. Angel warding. Dean is a little surprised that Cas insists on Crowley participating as well. There is some argument about that, which is not at all surprising. Dean realizes quickly that there is far more tension between the two new humans than he's ever had with either of them. But he doesn't want to get to the bottom of it right now because they've taken long enough as it is. When they're all safe and had something to eat, maybe Dean will address that subject. But he doubts it. He doesn't care.

Except he does, and he can't stop caring. If he could, he would be dead by now, and that's all he wants.

When they've finally taken care of everything necessary, Dean begins the long drive back to Lebanon. He knows he's been awake for two days, but he doesn't want to waste any more time. Besides, Cas doesn't even know how to drive, and there's no way Dean is letting Crowley drive his Baby. He can keep his eyes open for a few more hours, just until they're safe.

Dean calls Kevin when they're about an hour from home and tells him to get some food. He doesn't tell him Sam's gone or who he's bringing home. Kevin's waited two days to hear from Dean; he can wait a little longer for the details. And Dean is tired. Not sleepy. Tired. He's been tired most of his life, but it's really catching up to him this time. He can't count the number of times he's considered swerving into oncoming traffic and solving everyone's problems right there. But he doesn't. He wouldn't really. Dean has a feeling when his death comes, it will be alone. He can taste the gunpowder in the air, imagining his final sensation.

But not yet.

It's long since dark when they reach the bunker, and Kevin is waiting for them in the library with takeout. He's so focused on whatever he's reading that he doesn't look up when they come in. Dean lets him stay ignorant for a moment, but Crowley isn't so courteous.

"Hello Kevin." He sounds a little too bright, as if he's forgotten how to work his vocal inflections.

Kevin whirls around and throws the first thing he can find at Crowley's head. Which happens to be the very heavy encyclopedia he was reading. Crowley barely ducks in time.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Kevin demands, seemingly scanning the room for another weapon.

"Calm down," Dean says, though he knows the strain is showing in his voice.

"Not until you explain what the King of Hell is doing here!" Kevin is nothing if not persistent.

"Not the King of Hell anymore, actually," Crowley points out. "More like... Well, I don't know. I suppose I could be anything."

"What's he talking about?" Kevin turns to Dean for answers.

"The third trial," Dean says. "Crowley's human now."

A look of pure relief settles over Kevin's face, and Dean wishes he could feel that good about anything. But it only takes a few seconds for Kevin to notice what else is out of place. "Then where's Sam? And what's with the new getup?" He directs the last question at Castiel who then looks at his new jeans and sweatshirt curiously.

No one seems to want to answer Kevin. He turns his gaze on all of them with no response. "Dean?" he says. "Where is Sam?" There's a fear in his tone that says he already knows the cost of the trials.

Dean doesn't look Kevin in they eye. "He's dead." And it's the first time he's said it out loud, the first time he's admitted Sam is gone and he couldn't save him.

But Dean doesn't have time to wallow in his own guilt, as he sees it quickly reflected in Kevin's face. Of course the kid had been the one who was so desperate to close the gates of Hell. But they had all wanted it. It was ultimately Sam's choice.

"I didn't know," Kevin says. "I thought..."

"We all did," Dean said. "Right up until the end."

"But he did it anyway? He knew it would kill him, and he did it anyway?"

Dean nods. It's the same thought that's been running over and over again in his mind since yesterday. Sam knew he would die. Sam willingly sacrificed his life for this. Even though Dean begged him not to. Even though they'd been fighting demons all their lives. Sam was done. He'd given up. Maybe that's an unfair assessment, but Dean always had seen things through the cloud of his own screwed up perspective. Maybe Sam is a hero, but all Dean has is a dead brother, hero or not, and that doesn't mean a lot to him.

Then Cas breaks the silence. "I think I have to use the bathroom."

And Dean suddenly realizes that there is far more to making someone human than new clothes and takeout. Great.

**~oOo~**

Dean's had plenty of awkward times in his life. It's only to be expected. Normally, he doesn't care, because his social skills consist of pickup lines and a winning smile. This is different. He's sitting at a table with his best friends and his worst enemy, and his brother is dead.

There have been so many days whose ends have not come soon enough, but this tops them all. Dean makes dinner for everyone because Kevin can't cook to save his life, and while Dean would just as soon have left Crowley to fend for himself, he needs to make sure Cas is okay. Some part of Dean has always felt responsible for the angel. Well, former angel.

He eats, but he doesn't remember having eaten. He sees his empty plate, but he doesn't register the lingering taste in his mouth or the feeling of being full. Cas offers to do the dishes, and Kevin follows Dean out into the hallway.

"There are only four rooms," he says.

Dean doesn't need an explanation. "I'll take care of it," he says.

"Dean?" It's easy to tell from Kevin's voice that he doesn't want to prolong this conversation, but he has something else to say.

"What?" Dean replies with less patience than he means to.

Kevin looks miserable. "I'm sorry," he says.

It's not what Dean wants to hear, but he knows Kevin's not just saying it as some formality. Sam meant a lot to him too. Dean's sure they had plenty of happy memories of geeky research sessions over the last year.

So, Dean nods because it's all he can muster. Kevin turns and heads back to the kitchen. Dean knows without him saying so that Kevin will look after the new humans for the moment. To give Dean some space.

It's not really space Dean needs. If he wants to stay alive that is, which he doesn't, but he should. Being alone, he can imagine no one needs him, that the world will go on without him, that he should be with Sam.

It only gets worse standing in Sam's bare room. There isn't much to pick up. A few pictures in a drawer, some of Sam's favorite books. The youngest Winchester never had many possessions. He didn't really know how to keep stuff because everything he ever had went away some how. There are a couple of notebooks Dean has never seen before, but he notices Sam's handwriting, so he puts them into the box he's taking out. He takes all of Sam's weapons and electronics as well. He'd figure out what to do with them all later. If he really looks at the stuff, he might just drive Sam's favorite knife into his skull right now. He doesn't want to leave that kind of mess for anyone to clean up.

It doesn't take long to make the room suitable for a new inhabitant. Sam had never really lived there. Sam had lived in old motels and the passenger seat of the Impala.

Dean has always regretted never being able to give Sam the normal life he wanted. As long as he lives, Dean will regret it. That thought makes him realize how much he will have to regret if he stays among the living.

As Dean returns to his room for the first time since arriving at the bunker, he feels as if one weight on his shoulders is replaced by another. He feels the exhaustion that's been threatening to suffocate him for years return in full force. Only it's much worse. When he had Sam, he could push through it. Sure there had been tough times, moments when Dean thought of giving up, but he never actually did it. Now, he doesn't just feel like giving up. He thinks it's the right thing to do. He thinks it's the only thing to do.

Dean sets Sam's things on the floor at the foot of his bed, and he hears voices out in the hallway. Kevin is showing Cas and Crowley the bedrooms. Things are settling down, and Dean realizes that this isn't the end for him. Not yet. He has to push through a little longer because people need him. It's funny because Dean's always felt like he was the one who needed everyone else. He doesn't like them being dependent on him. But he can't change that now.

* * *

**I almost forgot about this in the process of recovering from the trauma that was "Road Trip." As I upload this chapter, I'm listening to "Hymn for the Missing" by Red, which is a great song for Supernatural in general and especially this story.**

**Oh, and thanks so much for the wonderful reviews!**


	3. A Lesson in Humanity

**It's Wednesday, and that means a new chapter! Thanks so much for all the feedback so far.**

**Chapter Three "A Lesson in Humanity"**

Castiel can't sleep. He doesn't know how. He's thinking about everything that went wrong, trusting in Metatron, Sam's death. It's all so much for anyone to deal with, and Castiel isn't used to feeling the same volume of emotions humans have. He knows he's tired, but he keeps turning over and over, and thinking about the fact that this was Sam's room, and Sam is dead, and if he had just realized it sooner, he might have been able to stop it.

And then Castiel thinks about Dean. He thinks about how much worse the elder Winchester must be feeling, and that makes him realize that Dean probably isn't sleeping either.

The dim lights in the hallway give an eerie feeling as Castiel walks slowly toward the main rooms. He's still not used to this clumsy body, but he manages to keep quiet enough that he won't wake anyone else. The real trouble is that the compound is so big, he soon gets lost. There are so many hallways and so many doors. Castiel discovers the archives, the dungeon, and numerous storage rooms. He doesn't find Dean though.

Perhaps his initial suspicion was invalid. Maybe Dean is in his room where he's supposed to be. Not that Castiel has any clue of how to get back there anyway.

After a while longer of searching, Castiel comes upon a room with a sign on the door that reads "Shooting Range." There are several rules beneath that about ear protection and so on that Castiel doesn't understand. However, that changes when he opened the door. The high decibels of gunfire compounded by the enclosed space make Castiel reach for the nearest set of noise canceling headphones hanging from hooks inside the door.

Dean is standing at the far end of the range, not wearing ear or eye protection, as the signs command. He's firing his gun one handed, repeatedly until the clip empties. He then replaces it with another from a pile of loaded magazines on the counter in front of him.

Castiel approaches slowly, not sure if Dean is aware of his presence or not. Dean fires another clip at the unseen target. When that one empties, he releases it and reaches for another. As it snaps into place, he holds the gun in front of him for a few seconds, just staring at it.

"You should be sleeping," he says without looking up.

"What?" Castiel replies, then remembers the headphones. He pulls them off and feels incredibly silly. "What did you say?"

Dean shakes his head. "Why are you here?" he asks.

"I couldn't sleep," Castiel replies truthfully. "Actually, it took me about an hour to find you. I... don't know my way around very well."

"You'll learn." Dean raises the gun at the target again.

Castiel hurriedly replaces the headphones. It seems that his human brain is more startled by loud noises. His angel mind was built for violence, but that is no longer the case.

Another clip gone, Dean finally relents and turns to face Castiel. Dean pulls the headphones off, rather roughly, as if the sight of them offends him.

"What do you want?" he asks, equally rough.

Castiel is a bit startled by his tone, though he shouldn't be. He's so used to Dean's moods, and this is not really that different. But Castiel feels different about it. "I didn't mean to bother you," he says, and for a moment, he thinks of leaving, though he's not sure where he will go next.

"If you're here to talk, you can forget about it," Dean says, moving to change clips again.

"What would we talk about?" Castiel asks, confused at the suggestion.

Dean shrugs. "Just thought that might be why you came."

"No. I honestly don't know why. I just couldn't sleep, and I doubted you could either."

"Why's that?"

"Me or you?"

"Either."

"Me, I don't know. It's new to me. You, well, your brother just died, and that's upsetting. Of course, it upsets me too, but certainly not in the same way. At least, I'm pretty sure. I'm new to all this."

"Cas, you're rambling."

"Sorry."

Dean shakes his head. "Never mind. You gotta work it all out. It'll take time."

"And you?"

"What?"

"Do you have to 'work it out'?" Castiel resists making air quotes with his fingers.

Dean hesitates. He seems to be thinking about that answer an awful lot. "Sure, I guess."

Castiel tilts his head to the side like he always does when he's curious. It happens a lot around Dean. "I don't know what that means," he says.

"Neither to I, Cas."

Castiel nods. "You should sleep. Apparently, it's necessary for humans."

Dean gives Castiel a weak smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah," he says, but he doesn't move from his place.

"Can you at least help me find my way back?" It's a rather pathetic request, but Castiel doesn't want to spend the night wandering the halls alone. And he doesn't want to leave Dean here with his guns and his grief. For some reason, it seems dangerous.

Dean agrees, reluctantly, to show Castiel back to the bedrooms. They walk in silence, but it isn't like all the other times they've spent in silence. Before, things were often so effortless between them. Castiel always knew he could trust Dean, and that was enough. Now, he doesn't understand half of the new emotions being thrown his way. There's fear and grief and something else he's not really sure of. Something to do with the thought that Dean might give up and join his brother. There are no words to put to this feeling, only that it resembles fear the way an angel sculpture resembles the real thing.

**~oOo~**

As they reach Sam's-no, Cas' doorway, Dean stops. He doesn't know why, but he suddenly feels like he's failing again. It's a familiar feeling, so he's not sure why it hits him so hard this time.

"Cas?" he says, quietly so as not to wake anyone.

"Yes, Dean?" his friend replies.

"I'm... sorry, I guess. I haven't been much help."

Cas looks at him with the curious expression that never seems to leave his face. "You have other concerns."

Dean shakes his head. "I can't bring Sam back. If I could, I'd be out there doing whatever it takes. Sam's gone. But you're still here, and let's face it, you need my help."

"That much is true," Cas concedes. "But I understand there is a process? When someone you love dies, I mean."

Dean doesn't want to talk about it. He really doesn't want to talk about it, but this is Cas, and he's the only reason Dean is even bothering to stay alive anymore.

"Yeah, there is," he says. "I've never been very good at it though."

"Is anyone?"

"Guess not."

"There's nothing I can say, is there? Words don't make it better."

"No. Nothing makes it better. You've lost people, haven't you, Cas?"

Cas shakes his head. "Never like you have."

Dean isn't sure what that means. Has Cas never lost anyone that close to him, or has he never felt it before because he was an angel? Or both. Dean doesn't want to know. He wants to believe that Cas is fine. Humanity isn't that hard. Except it is, as Dean knows from extensive personal experience. Being human is nearly impossible. It's easier to be a monster or a drone.

Dean wishes he could keep lying to himself, but it seems as if Sam's death has brought on a certain sense of painful clarity. He can see everything he has to do now, and it's not a one time job like the rest of his life seems to have been. He's in it for the lifetime now. As long as Cas is alive, and Crowley for that matter, Dean has to stick around and look after them.

Which is surprising because Dean has always thought that his obsession with protecting Sam came from a need to please his father, but this has nothing to do with that. This is all Dean. He has to protect people because he just does. There's no reasonable explanation he can think of, and it's irritating as hell because he doesn't want to be this way. It might be a good thing, but he doesn't want it all the same. Because it only ever ends badly.

Dean goes to bed, and he sleeps hard because it's been days. When he wakes, nothing's changed. Sam's still dead, and Cas still needs to eat. Kevin picks up the slack, and Crowley talks far too much. This is their life now. Team Free Will, the Men of Letters, whatever the hell they are. They aren't family anymore. Dean is so far beyond that now. He'll give everything he's got until the day he dies, but he doesn't mean it. Maybe he never has. Just going through the motions.


	4. The New Normal

**Thanks so much to everyone who's reading, and especially those who have reviewed. I really appreciate it. It has come to my attention that the sort of thing you use to load a semi-automatic handgun is called a magazine, not a clip, and the two words are not interchangeable the way I used them in chapter three. I will not be making that mistake again, should it ever come up.**

**Chapter Four "The New Normal"**

When Dean does sleep, he relives the last time he saw his brother. He sees Sam standing over Crowley, ready to give up his life for some stupid cause. The cause they've been fighting for all their lives. And Dean knows it's hypocritical of him because he would do it in a heartbeat, but he begs Sam not to. He hears his own voice breaking, and it cuts into his heart all over again. The last words he says to Sam almost make him want to laugh:

"Don't you dare think that there is anything past or present that I would put in front of you. It has never been like that. I need you to see that. I'm begging you."

He looks Sam in the eye, and he sees; he knows-it doesn't change a damn thing. Because Sam is tired of doing everything halfway. If he stops now, he's not just giving up on his own mission; he's letting Dean down too. And Dean knows it. He can't stop Sam because Sam is doing this for him. Nothing comes between a Winchester and his brother. Even said brother himself.

Sam closes his hand over Crowley's mouth, and Dean is screaming at him to stop. It's too late. It's over. It's always been over for them. They were born cursed, and all their fighting fate has done nothing to change that. It's only put off the inevitable end.

If only it truly were the end.

Because Dean always wakes up and realizes that this is his life now. That Sam died because he didn't want to let him down, and Dean can't just curl up and die too.

But Dean sure thinks about it when he remembers the way Sam's body convulsed on the floor, the way he didn't say a word as his eyes closed for the last time. He thinks about it when he looks at the wall of weapons decorating his room. He thinks about it when he slices tomatoes because he always keeps the kitchen knives sharp enough to slice a jugular vein in one smooth motion.

Then he thinks about Cas, and he doesn't ever go through with his contemplations.

But life doesn't get back to normal. There is no more normal. Dean gets up in the morning, and he has no idea what he's going to do. He doesn't take or look for new cases. He works on his car and wastes ammunition at the shooting range. He fixes meals for everyone else because Kevin's cooking skills are limited to hot dogs and microwave dinners.

Dean is organizing the library one day as Crowley reads in a chair in the corner. Kevin has a tendency to leave books lying around, and Dean can't seem to help himself when it comes to cleaning. Dean is just noticing that the shelves could use some dusting, when Crowley loudly closes his book and clears his throat.

"You know, I'm beginning to notice a pattern," he says.

Dean's had a feeling this was coming.

"You're everybody's mother, aren't you?"

Well, he hadn't been expecting that. "What'd you say?" he asks.

"You cook and clean and chaperone. You do everything for everyone. There's just one thing that concerns me. Well, it doesn't concern me, but it should concern you."

Dean turns from the shelves to face Crowley. "What's that?"

"What happens when you die? On the job or of old age-which is highly unlikely, but hypothetically. You'll leave behind a former angel who can't even tie his own shoes. He won't survive without you."

"What's your point?"

"Teach the man to boil an egg! He wants to know how to take care of himself, but he doesn't want to ask. He just lets you do everything for him because you're so desperate to be needed."

"You think I want this? I'd give anything if Cas _didn't_ need me anymore."

Crowley smiles. "No you wouldn't. You think you would because it would let you die with a clear conscience, but you know that isn't what Sam would have wanted."

"Shut up."

Crowley stands and drops the book on the end table beside him. "If you want your life-_Sam's sacrifice_-to mean anything, then you have to make the best of what you have. Teach Castiel to be human. Start hunting again."

Dean shakes his head. "What do you care?"

"Me? Not a bit. Can't stand the traitor. But it matters to you, and you _are_ my reluctant benefactor. It's not as if I have a place in this world either."

"It's me then? You think you can _help_?"

"I think I have to try."

"Save it. I don't need you telling me how to live what's left of my life."

"Contrary to what you might think, I do know what it means to be human. I've lived that life before. I never wanted a second chance, but I'll be damned if I'm going to muck it up."

"That's nice for you, I guess. But let me remind you that the only reason I didn't shoot you is because Sam died saving you. That's it."

Crowley angles his head to the side in concession. "Then I have a better suggestion."

"Do I want to know?"

"Take me hunting."

"What?" Of all the unexpected things Crowley says this is the height of insanity.

Crowley's reply is nonchalant. "You know I'd be good at it. And you need to get out of this bomb shelter worse than I do."

Dean shakes his head. "That's not happening."

"Why not?" Crowley raises his eyebrows, daring Dean to answer.

Dean pauses, trying to think of a logical reason, but finding none. "Because I said so," he replies, turning and leaving the room before Crowley can argue further.

Dean can't believe he's treating Crowley the same way he treated Sam on occasion. This isn't happening. Crowley isn't replacing Sam. He's not going to be a hunter. Dean isn't even sure if he's still a hunter himself. If there's much of anything to hunt out there anyway.

**~oOo~**

Three days later, Dean packs up the Impala and prepares to leave the bunker. Kevin found a case. Kids going missing. Of all the things to get Dean back in the field, this has to be it. And it's not a one man job. Kevin is more tech support on missions, and Cas is still too socially awkward, and just plain awkward in general, to accomplish much.

Dean's not admitting Crowley was right. He's not. Never happening. But right now, the only person available is the former King of Hell, and Dean just has to deal with it. It's enough that the bastard is sitting in the passenger seat all smug and satisfied with himself.

If Dean were being objective, he would admit that it makes sense. Crowley looks a hell of a lot more like an FBI agent than Sam ever did. And he can certainly hold his own in a fight. It's not until they reach the scene that Dean realizes Crowley can also do an impressive American accent. Dean should really be happy that Crowley is a natural, but he doesn't like the way the other man takes charge without asking. Of course, that makes sense too. Crowley looks older, and to be fair, he's got a few centuries on Dean. At least in public, it should appear that he's in control.

Dean does not like this one bit.

Add to that the complete lack of evidence on the case, and Dean begins to regret ever leaving the bunker. He knows he didn't really think this through. Going on the road with someone is more than having to work together. It's being in each other's space 24/7, and with Sam that was one thing. Crowley is a completely different story.

For one thing, the guy complains about everything from Dean's choice of food to motels to the way he walks.

"You don't move like a Fed," Crowley says after their first meeting with local law enforcement.

"That's because I'm not," Dean replies, not bothering to come up with a better argument.

"But they don't know that. At least, they're not supposed to."

Dean stops beside the Impala and faces Crowley. "Something you need to understand: we never stay one place long enough for it to matter."

Crowley tilts his head slightly. "Your colorful criminal record would suggest that it does, in fact, matter."

Dean shouldn't be surprised that Crowley knows about all that, but he hadn't expected it to come up.

"Isn't part of being a hunter the ability to remain invisible?" Crowley continues. "You succeed because no one knows you're there."

"Look, I've been doing this my whole life, I think I know how to talk to a few cops."

"As evidenced by your frequent brushes with the law in the past."

"Hazard of the job."

"I am merely suggesting small improvements to make your life easier. There's no need to be defensive."

"Yeah, well, save your suggestions. I never asked."

Crowley falls into silence as they get into the car and drive off. It's a small argument compared to some others they've had, but it doesn't sit well with Dean. He tries not to think of all the years he hunted with Sam and how seamless it was. He'd never expected to have to break in a new guy. Or that the new guy would be trying to break _him_ in.

**~oOo~**

It's two a.m., and Dean can't sleep. Mostly because Crowley is either awake and complaining or asleep and snoring. But there are other reasons. It's being away from home for the first time since... everything. It's the fact that Sam isn't here. It's worry.

The most pressing thought on Dean's mind is whether Cas is okay. If he's eating and sleeping all right. If his humanity is beginning to overwhelm him. And while Dean worries about Cas, he worries about himself. He thinks that he may not make it home this time. That being away might give him the distance and opportunity to end it all, and there's a growing knot in his stomach the more he thinks about it. Because Cas needs him, but he may not be there like he should be.

Dean still has the almost overpowering desire to die, but he also needs to live. Leaving Cas now would be so much worse than what Sam did to him. Of course, he tacks Kevin and Crowley onto that sentiment, but if he's honest, Dean will admit that Cas is the only thing holding him here.

Only, he's not here right now. Cas is three states away, and Dean hadn't really considered until now how bad of an idea that is. It's not about wanting to be with his friend, because Dean would rather be alone. It's about needing to stay close to his lifeline. Because he'll let go-he knows he will-if he gets too far.

And even though it's two a.m., Dean leaves the hotel room and dials Cas. It's stupid, he knows, but it's all he can do to keep from wandering out into the nearby highway traffic.

It only takes a couple of rings before an answer comes. "Dean?" Cas sounds worried.

"Hey..." Dean doesn't even know what he's going to say; this is ridiculous.

"Are you okay?"

It's the fear in Cas' voice that reminds Dean of his situation. "Yeah, no, I'm fine," he says. "I just, um..."

"Can't sleep?" Cas wonders.

"Something like that."

"You're thinking about Sam."

It makes sense, but it's not entirely accurate. "Kind of." Dean leans against the side of the building and notices how cold it is as his breath floats over the air in front of him.

Cas doesn't say anything. He waits. Dean can hear him breathing, and that's good enough.

"I just wanted to check in." Dean tries to recover some semblance of normalcy. Poorly.

"We're okay." Cas pauses. "I'm okay," he amends. He must know that's what Dean really cares about.

"Yeah, good." Dean lets his head fall back and breaths a sigh. "Sorry I called so late."

"I was just trying to fall asleep. Kevin suggested reading, but that doesn't help. How do you do it?"

"Sleep?" Dean is grateful to be talking about something kind of normal. "I don't know. I've been doing it all my life. Just have to get tired enough, I suppose."

"Perhaps it's my inactivity that is giving me problems."'

"You could take up Yoga or something."

"I'll look into it."

Dean laughs. Not a real, deep laugh, but it's more than he's done in a long time. It reminds him of when things were good between him and Cas. Before the Leviathans. Before Purgatory and Naomi and Metatron.

Cas doesn't seem to understand, but he laughs too. "How are things with Crowley?" he asks.

Dean would rather not talk about it, but he does just to keep the conversation going. "He whines about everything. And he snores. Other than that, it's okay, I guess."

"Not like it was."

"Yeah, well, nothing's ever gonna be like that. This is temporary."

"How temporary." Dean gets the feeling Cas is talking about something else entirely.

"As long as it's necessary." Crowley, life in general, it doesn't matter to Dean. He means it both ways.

"Be careful. I wish I could be there."

"You just focus on being human for a while. Then we'll talk about field trips."

"I know I'm a terrible hunter."

"Ah, you can learn." Dean believes it because he has to.

"I hope so."

And Dean gets the full weight of Cas' meaning. He knows. He knows Dean needs him out here because it's just too easy to find ways to die with nothing stopping him. In his own way, Cas is telling Dean to hang on. He's begging him not to go because they need each other. Not that they want to, but that's just the way of things right now.

Dean can't wait to get back. He can't wait to take that load off for a while again.

He clears his throat. "I should go," he says. "Thanks, Cas."

"For what?" Cas replies.

"Nothing, just... I'll see you in a few days."

It might as well be an eternity with the way Dean feels as he hangs up. He doesn't know how he's going to make it long enough to get home. He prays to no one on particular that he will.


	5. Things Left Unsaid

**Chapter Five "Things Left Unsaid"**

Turns out, it's angels, and there's nothing Dean and Crowley can do to stop them. Why they're taking children as vessels is beyond Dean's capacity to grasp, but that's what it comes down to. Seven kids altogether. They'll never go home.

Dean isn't accustomed to letting these things go, but he does it so easily that it scares him. He's not sure if he wants to get home that badly, or if he just doesn't care who gets hurt anymore as long as it's no one who matters to him. Because everyone he cares about gets hurt in the end, so maybe he should just stop caring.

Except he can't. He thinks about those kids all the way home. It's a day's drive, and Dean is tired, but he can't turn his mind off. Crowley offers to drive for a while, and Dean makes the perfectly valid excuse that no former demon is going to drive his Baby. Truthfully, he just needs something to focus on besides his thoughts. A four lane interstate stretching straight out into the horizon isn't much, but it will do for the moment.

It's late when they reach the bunker once again. Kevin is already asleep, but Cas is waiting in the library, frowning in confusion at whatever he's reading. He looks up when Dean and Crowley come in. Crowley disappears down the hallway without a word, and Dean doesn't bother wondering why. Instead he throws his jacket over the back of a chair and sits down across from Cas.

The former angel seems to have given up on the book, which happens to be _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_.

"Not your reading level?" Dean asks with a smirk.

"Yes," Cas replies, still frowning. "Though I'm not certain what that means."

"I don't think that one is supposed to make any sense, if that helps."

"Have you read it?"

"No... maybe. I can't remember."

Cas tilts his head in that signature expression of curiosity and fascination. "You don't read a lot."

"Nope."

"Then wouldn't it be easier to remember what you have read?"

"That's another thing you're gonna have to learn about being human. We forget a lot more than we remember."

"Funny... Well, not funny, but interesting. It doesn't seem as if humans can easily forget the bad things. Why is that?"

Dean shakes his head. "I don't know, Cas... Sam used to remember a lot of good things. Stuff from when we were kids that I'd forgotten about. He was good at that." He hadn't meant to say any of that, but now he has, and he can't take it back.

"So it's not a universal human trait to only remember tragedy?" Cas asks.

Dean shrugs. "I guess not."

"That's good. I wonder which way I'll go. I used to remember everything."

"Maybe you still will. Some people are like that."

Cas shakes his head. "I'm already forgetting. Distant things. Thousands of years ago."

"That's not so bad."

"No. I don't imagine I'll need to know how the world began to be a successful human."

Dean feels a strangely foreign tickle of laughter in his throat. "Cas, if you can figure out how to be a successful human, you'll be the richest man alive."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone wants to know. What's the meaning of life? Why are we here? What does it matter anyway?" Dean says the last part with a hint of bitterness.

"It matters," Cas replies with conviction. And suddenly, they aren't talking in hypotheticals anymore.

Dean doesn't say anything. He knows what Cas means. He knows his reasons for calling the other night are perfectly clear. He can see that Cas has been waiting for this opportunity, thinking about what he's going to say to make Dean stay. He doesn't have to say anything.

"Why is it," Cas begins slowly, as if still formulating the sentence in his head, "that your life is only worth what you do for other people?"

Dean lets out a rapid breath. "Isn't that all anyone's life is worth?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, but I'm not sure you do."

Cas frowns, frustrated. "You're not normally evasive. Not like this."

"Hasn't really been my week, you know?"

Cas nods, but he still appears to be deep in thought. "Why do I matter?"

Dean doesn't make eye contact. "I don't know. I just... I'm not gonna bail on you, Cas. Not ever."

Cas catches Dean's gaze. "But you want to." His eyes look like they could cut into Dean's soul right about now. But then, they always look like that.

Dean looks down at his hands. He thinks about all the scars and where he got them, and how Sam was there for most of them. "Doesn't matter," he says. "You know why I called you."

"Yes." Cas keeps staring. "If it helps you to continue doing so, I don't mind."

Dean shakes his head. "I didn't think it would be like that."

"Why would you?"

"It's the distance is all. I get far enough away, and I... I don't know. I start to think I can let go."

"That's why you want me to come with you?"

"I don't know if I'll be going again any time soon. This little trip didn't turn out so well."

"Dean, you have to." That sense of conviction is back, and it's hard to argue with Cas when he gets like this. "You're a hunter. You always will be."

Dean looks up at Cas again. "Sooner or later, I'll be a dead hunter. I'm thinking you'd rather it weren't sooner."

"We're all going to die." Cas says it as if he's just realized his own mortality. "I think what matters is how."

Dean nods. "And I'm not gonna die giving up." It's hard enough to push those words past his lips, but the way Cas looks at him only makes it worse.

"Where is the end to your resolve?" he asks. He's got that fascinated head tilt going on again. One of the first expressions he'd ever given Dean when he wondered why Dean didn't believe he deserved to be saved.

"Don't know if there is one," Dean replied. "I've come close, but I never found it yet." And that should be encouraging. Dean has wanted to give up many times, but he never has. He should be proud of that. But he's not. He's still just as miserable as before.

"I always thought there had to be a limit." Cas leans back in his chair a little, getting that philosophical tone in his voice. "That human suffering could only go on so long. That eventually, everyone would break. I'm not sure which is worse."

"I don't know," Dean says. He's never been that curious to find out either. "Maybe free will is a thing. Maybe if we keep pushing forward we'll never stop. I've died before, and that didn't stop me."

"Then what stopped Sam?"

It's a question Dean doesn't want to answer. Doesn't even want to think about. But it's there between them, and something in Dean knows that he has to talk to Cas about this. "He gave in. He saw that he was beat, and he died. Not saying there's any shame in dying for a good cause, but it doesn't sit well. I can't... I can't believe my life could ever come to that. When I die, it will be alone and no one will miss me because I'm not dying until everyone who matters is gone."

"That is an impossible weight to carry. We can't live like that."

Dean emits a sound like a laugh that isn't a laugh. "Better than dying like that."

**~oOo~**

It's a week after Dean and Crowley returned, and they haven't left since. Dean goes into town for supplies from time to time. Kevin keeps working on the angel tablet, and Cas tries to help him however he can. Crowley mostly complains.

Dean is in the garage working on his car, which isn't necessary, but it's something to do other than wasting ammunition, and it keeps his mind occupied. He tries not to think about how he should be out there working. He can't do it right now. It's too much. He's tied to this place, teaching Cas to use the toaster and run the vacuum cleaner. Thankfully, Cas is a quick study. He's like a child soaking up information from all around him. Sometimes he forgets things, but he never forgets them twice. He still has trouble with cooking, but it will come.

But Dean knows that's not the issue. That there's a disconnect between him and Cas because they're not fighting together anymore. Dean's always been in the position of protector, but never for someone who seems so helpless, never for someone he can't leave for 24 hours without wanting to kill himself. Well, he wants to kill himself anyway, but Cas makes the impulse bearable. Being away is like being drunk. Dean loses any sense of inhibition he might have. It scares him. At lot of things scare him lately.

He doesn't know what time of day it is, not that it matters underground, but eventually Crowley finds him in the garage. Dean has begun to get used to sharing his living space with someone he used to hate. He's still not sure what the ex-demon is playing at, but Dean is responsible for him regardless.

Which doesn't make him any less annoying.

"Had a feeling you'd be hereabouts," Crowley says, looking around the vast room full of different vehicles.

"You need something?" Dean asks, still focused on the Impala's spark plugs.

"I am utterly starved of intelligent conversation."

"Came to the wrong place then, buddy."

"But you're amusing," Crowley amends. He walks around to the side of the Impala and peers under the hood, looking confused by the whole thing. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Checking spark plugs."

Crowley frowns curiously. "Didn't you replace those recently?"

Dean doesn't reply, but he knows he can't hide the guilty look on his face.

"Trying to keep busy. I understand. You know, there are other things." Crowley gets this hopeful gleam in his eyes, like he's trying to ask for something without asking.

Dean stands up straight and closes the hood with a loud thunk. Crowley raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything. Dean wipes his hands off on a nearby rag and goes back to the tool chest, looking for a tire pressure gauge.

Crowley sighs, apparently fed up with waiting for a response. "You can't just sulk down here while the world goes on out there."

"Watch me," Dean replies, not bothering to give Crowley the death glare he doesn't have the energy for right now.

"So this is it then?" Crowley actually sounds surprised. "No period of horrific violence in the wake of your brother's death?"

Dean gives up looking for the tire pressure gauge and turns to face Crowley. "Well... that was always more Sam's thing than mine," he says. He doesn't know why. He just can't keep that stuff in anymore.

Crowley closes his mouth, and his eyes turn thoughtful for a moment. "And you're more for the lethargic depression?" he asks, but it's not really a question. "In which case, you know that the only way out of it is to get back on the horse."

Dean shakes his head. "I'm not leaving again."

"What was it?" Crowley is intent now. "Why was it so bad? As far as jobs go, I'm certain our first was unremarkable as they come."

"Not the point." Dean turns back to the tool chest before he remembers that he doesn't have any reason to.

"Then what is it? Too much time away from your boyfriend?" And that sounds like old Crowley.

Dean slams the lid closed and feels the impact reverberating through his hands. He thinks that must be why it feels as if he's shaking. "It's dangerous," he says.

And he leaves Crowley standing there, wondering what's so dangerous because there's no way Dean is explaining this to him. Not this. Some things, Dean has to keep to himself. He hasn't even really said it in so many words to Cas. He wants to die. Still. It's not getting any better. It never will.

* * *

**I've realized that not much has been actually happening in the last few chapters, but that's all about to change. I think I've finally hit my stride with this story, and I've got some great ideas in store, so stick around. As always, let me know what you're thinking. I'm always open to suggestions and whatever thoughts you may have.**

**Also, writing Crowley is more fun than should be legal.**

**Finally, last night's episode. I can't. Just... no. Sam... Dean... *sighs***


	6. Some Things Never Change

**Chapter Six "Some Things Never Change"**

People tell Castiel that he's learning fast. Mostly Kevin, actually, because Dean doesn't do much talking at all lately. The silence is still unnerving; it's not their usual silence. Crowley, on the other hand, talks incessantly, but he never says anything nice to Castiel. So Kevin remains his sole source of encouragement.

Castiel begins to wonder if the young prophet isn't much stronger than he looks. There are moments when Kevin thinks no one's looking that the grief shows on his face, but he hides it quickly. Castiel isn't sure if anyone else has noticed. Crowley probably has, but he doesn't care, and Dean has too much on his mind to really see anyone else's pain. Rightfully so.

At first, the lessons seem arbitrary. Things like how to use a broom and how to turn on the washing machine don't seem that important until Castiel realizes how quickly things become dirty for humans. Then he can't stop seeing dirt everywhere. Kevin accuses him of being more obsessive compulsive than Dean. Whatever that means.

The stove still frightens him. As an angel, he never had to worry about getting burned, but once is enough to know why humans describe it as the worst sort of pain. Dean tells him to put aloe on his fingers where he touched the outside of a saucepan on accident. It does help. So, Castiel learns about medicine too.

None of this helps him sleep, and he's beginning to think it has nothing to do with being new at it, but rather some kind of stress. Dean keeps saying it will come, but Castiel is doubtful. Perhaps he cannot sleep because the guilt keeps him awake. Or that feeling so like fear that he can almost name it. And when he does manage to sleep a few hours, Castiel sees things. He knows these are dreams, but they feel so much more real than what he's seen of other people's dreams. When he's in them, he sees himself executing hundreds of angels. He sees the times he killed imaginary Deans over and over again. He sees Sam lying on a wooden floor, eyes vacant in death. He doesn't know why he sees the last one.

Castiel doesn't tell Dean about the dreams or the guilt he feels. It would only add to the enormous burden his friend already carries. And that is a problem in itself, for Castiel has no idea how to help Dean. Or if he can at all.

It all made so much more sense when they knew what they were fighting for. When they knew where they stood with each other and there were no secrets between them.

The worst thing, worse than the nightmares or not sleeping at all, is when Castiel hears Dean's voice in the middle of the night. He realizes early on that his room is the closest to Dean's, and the others can't hear him. But Castiel hears too clearly. At first, it's just random muttering, as if he's talking in his sleep, but then it gets more specific. Then one night Dean shouts his brother's name so loud that Castiel is out of bed and running down the hall before he realizes that he's awake.

Dean is awake too. He hardly looks like he's slept, still dressed in his jeans and t-shirt. But there's a thick sheen of sweat coating his face. It soaks into his shirt, and it the dark, it looks as if he's bleeding from everywhere. He stares at the wall, not acknowledging Castiel's presence. His breathing comes in heavy gulps as if he can't get enough air no matter how hard he tries.

There are no tears, but a redness around Dean's eyes that means the same thing. Castiel is wondering what if feels like to cry when he realizes that he already knows. He feels the strangling tightness in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes. He doesn't know why it's coming now. Why not before?

It takes Dean a long time to catch his breath, and when he does, he stands up and goes into the bathroom, closing the door with the precise amount of force that tells Castiel the moment is over. So, Castiel goes back to his own room, but he gets no more sleep. His mind is stuck on this need to do something, anything, to ease the pain his friend suffers every moment. But there is nothing he can do.

Nothing ever changes. A month goes by. Then two. Castiel knows how to work the stove now. He tries to help Kevin interpret the angel tablet. He tries to get along with Crowley. He tries to think of any possible way to make Dean smile again, even halfway. None of his efforts is particularly effective.

Then, one afternoon, Dean goes out for groceries and he doesn't come back, and Castiel's first thought is that it all finally got to be too much, and he wasn't enough to keep Dean going. He failed. He let his friend die alone. And he weeps in earnest now because it seems the only proper thing to do.

**~oOo~**

Looking up at the metal loops in the wall, and the chains attached to them, and his wrists attached to those chains, Dean thinks maybe he should have sent someone else to do the shopping. He'd been genuinely surprised when the girl in the produce section started flirting with him. Not that he hadn't always been good looking, but he wasn't anywhere near the top of his game lately. That should have been the first red flag, but Dean was too distracted to care. She said her name was April, and that made Dean think of May, which comes after April, which was the month his brother died. He wondered if he'd ever see another April, and he figured this one was as good as any.

He really should have been suspicious of a nice looking girl picking up a guy in a supermarket. It didn't make any sense. But since nothing really made sense to Dean anymore, he dismissed it.

Only when his vision started getting fuzzy after his second drink, did Dean start to think this might be a trap. Too late. Much too late.

So, now he's chained to a wall God knows where, and he's pretty sure he knows why. Because he's heard them talking. They're angels, and that April chick was a rogue reaper. Dean is bait. Which is new for him because he's usually the one being baited, but that's really beside the point. The angels want Cas. For revenge. For kicks. It doesn't matter. They can't get him because that would be the end of everything. Cas is the center of all this. If he dies...

It's with no small measure of dismay that Dean realizes his friend is now under the care of one scatterbrained genius and one former demon who happens to hate his guts. Dean really wishes he had spent more time trying to sort things out between Cas and Crowley, but he was too busy being annoyed by the fact that it was even an issue.

The room he's in is small, but clean. It looks new too because the floor is concrete, but the walls are finished and painted some pale, salmon color that makes Dean want to throw up just looking at them. There's one bare light bulb overhead and a door at each end of the room to Dean's right and left. Occasionally someone will pass through, but no matter what Dean says, they never give him a second look. He's not important. He's just part of the trap.

He wishes they would kill him and get it over with, but he knows they won't do that until they have Cas. Dean will have to see his best friend die before he will be relieved. Having the end in sight almost makes Dean feel better. He might actually be happy if this scenario didn't involve an undoubtedly painful death for Cas. At least he's human now. He won't last as long as an angel would.

Yet, there is a part of Dean-a strong part, if he's being honest-that hates the thought of giving in and taking this. That part of him wants to fight, wants to take as many of these sons of bitches down with him as he can. If he's gonna die, he's gonna do it with a bang, not a whimper. That's just who he is, Sam or no Sam, and it's a funny realization. That there is one thing they can never take away from him.

**~oOo~**

Kevin is thinking about Kipling. That line about keeping your head when all about you are losing theirs. Sometimes-okay all the time-Kevin misses studying poetry and biology and algebra. Those things made so much more sense than this does.

But the first thing Kevin knows about their current situation is that Dean did not abandon them. He doesn't know how he knows it because he's seen the pain written on the man's face ever since he met him really, and worse since Sam died. Kevin's done his best to pick up the slack, to help out however he can. He's always known there was nothing he could do for Dean on an emotional level. Whatever it was he had with Sam was something no one could understand, much less offer any consolation in light of its loss.

Still, Kevin knows Dean would not leave them like this. Because Dean made promises. He said he'd always look out for Kevin. He said he wouldn't abandon them. So, something else must have happened, and that's not a comforting thought, but Kevin is running with it because it's all he has to hang onto. He knows he can't do this alone. He can't keep Cas safe or Crowley in line. He's just a kid, really. They all need Dean. But until he comes back, Kevin will keep his head. He owes it to the man who treated him like family when he had no obligation to.

It doesn't help when Cas and Crowley start bickering like a cat and dog, and Kevin isn't sure which is which. When Dean was there, he created a buffer between the two former enemies. Right now, though, Kevin isn't sure how appropriate the adjective "former" is. Eventually, he sticks in some earbuds and listens to the sort of music Dean likes to drown them out while he works.

It's slow going, hacking into traffic camera feeds and following Dean's trail. He's already been gone 24 hours. But Kevin keeps working even as he sees Cas begin to believe that Dean is dead or that blank look in Crowley's eyes that means he's trying to act like he doesn't care. But they all care. If there's anything in this world that matters to every one of them, it's Dean.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think of the direction the story is going. I can promise some intense chapters coming up and more action, which I've been missing up until now.**


	7. An Even Trade

**Chapter Seven "An Even Trade"**

"You know, the fact that you two are human now means I can shoot you, and you'll shut up."

Kevin is rewarded by a sharp silence. It's not as if he would carry out his threat. He can't even fire a gun, much less hit anything with it. Dean had tried to teach him once, but it didn't go well. Still, the sudden interjection into the constant chatter achieves the desired effect. Cas and Crowley stare at Kevin expectantly, and perhaps a little worried.

"I'm almost into the security cameras, so can you just be quiet for two seconds, and we'll figure out what's going on?"

"What's the point?" Cas says. He speaks in the most pathetic, defeated tone that Kevin almost feels sorry for him. Until he remembers that no one else will give him the same consideration.

"Stop acting like this is already over," Kevin says. "Dean's never given up on any of us, so we're not gonna give up on him. Now sit down, and shut up until I tell you to do something."

Crowley is a bit less compliant, but Cas is almost too obedient. Kevin can't keep thinking about how the former angel has already given up. Dean must be in some kind of trouble, and they're all going to have to be on top of things if they're going to help him.

The silence lasts long enough for Kevin to finish hacking into the camera feeds of the supermarket and surrounding traffic cameras. He searches the footage for the proper time when Dean might have been there, and he is rewarded by the familiar sight of the Impala.

"There!" Kevin exclaims. "Told you!" He feels a bit like a child now, but compared to the others, he kind of still is.

"Can I talk now?" Crowley says.

"Is it possible to stop you?" Kevin snarks back.

Crowley ignores it. "Assuming you've found our missing Winchester, are you able to determine his current location?"

After a few keystrokes, Kevin realizes that's a negative. "No," he says, deflating slightly. "He goes into a bar with this girl, and he never comes out. Which is impossible because he can't have been in there for two days."

"Angels." Cas says, suddenly standing.

"What?" Crowley replies, looking up at him with a bored expression.

Cas moves around the table to get a look at Kevin's computer screen. "Where's the girl? What did she look like?"

Kevin pulls up the best view of the girl in the supermarket parking lot.

Cas shakes his head. "She can't be an angel because Dean's warded, but she could be something else."

"Something like...?" Crowley says.

"There are a lot of things that can track humans, mostly likely a rogue reaper. They're easily bought."

"But why?" Kevin says, still not putting the pieces together. What could the angels want with Dean now?

"Me." It's almost as if Cas read Kevin's mind.

Then he does put it together. "Because you were part of the spell that locked Heaven. They're using Dean to get to you?"

"Know what that means?" Crowley asks with a glint in his eyes, but Kevin and Cas just look at him in confusion. "Dean's still alive."

The thought sends a thrill of hope reverberating throughout the whole room it seems. But Kevin still has misgivings.

"That doesn't tell us how to find him."

"It's quite simple really," Cas says in that same defeated voice. "We trade."

The thought of giving Cas to those crazy bastards, even to save Dean's life seems every level of wrong in Kevin's mind.

"Well, there is one other option," Crowley says, almost lazily.

"What's that?" Cas replies with obvious skepticism.

"A simple location spell would be the start to a good rescue."

Kevin glares at Crowley, not sure if he hates him more now than he ever did before. "Why didn't you say so?"

"When we thought he was dead, the whole thing would just have blown up in our faces and confirmed what we already knew. I thought it best to wait and see what you came up with. It was always possible he was alive somewhere, but I didn't want to find out he wasn't that way."

"It would have saved us a lot of time," Cas says.

"And you would have said it didn't matter because you thought he was dead too. Can we move on? All we need are some basic ingredients, which should be easy to find in this place, and something of Dean's like hair. So, you check the shower drain, and I'll get the rest."

Crowley leaves the room with a bit of a spring in his step as if he's actually looking forward to this, and Kevin suggests that Cas try Dean's comb first.

**~oOo~**

It is a point of personal pride for Crowley that he manages to maintain a somewhat carefree facade in the face of his current situation. There is the small matter of bickering with the bloody angel, but it's not as if he would actually do anything to Castiel now. It would be at cross purposes with what seems to be everyone's objective—namely, keeping Dean alive. Crowley is clever enough to have realized that it is the angel alone, not Kevin, and certainly not himself, that keeps Dean from becoming rather more reckless than is strictly speaking healthy.

Crowley had hit on the issue some weeks before in the garage. Not that he or Dean had said so in so many words, nor ever would, but it was clear enough. Which makes things all the more complicated seeing as the angels want Castiel dead, and it has suddenly become Crowley's job to ensure they don't succeed because Dean was stupid enough to get himself captured. Which is one thing Crowley is certainly not calm about, whatever his more public attitude may indicate. Dean cannot die, and because of that, neither can Castiel. Which makes the angels' inevitable move to trade one for the other a problem to which Crowley sees one answer. And it's an answer he likes because the sheer backstabbing nature of it makes him feel like his old self again. He knows it will be difficult to convince Kevin, though Castiel will probably agree too quickly because he's only thinking about saving Dean, to the point of offering to sacrifice himself. Crowley will never admit that he almost stopped hating the former angel at that point.

After gathering the supplies he needs for a location spell, Crowley returns to the library where Castiel has already returned, holding a few light hairs in the palm of his hand as if they're alive.

"Excellent," Crowley says, just to keep up the ruse that he's completely unperturbed by any of this. He sets up the map and begins to mix the other items. At some point, Castiel reluctantly drops the hairs into the mixture and everything is ready. Crowley wastes no time in lighting a match and watching to see where the spell will lead them.

"I'm not good with maps," Castiel says, "but that doesn't look very far away."

"It isn't," Kevin replies. "Hang on a second." He types the coordinates into his computer and comes up with an unfinished house in an abandoned subdivision. "Looks like the contractor must have run out of money. This place is completely empty."

"A good place to come and go without being seen," Castiel says. "But there's no way we can get in without them seeing us."

"Again, I have a brilliant plan," Crowley says, sensing his moment.

Kevin gives him an annoyed look. "Sure you do."

"Please." Crowley puts his hand over his heart dramatically. "I happen to think it's the best way to save Dean. That is the point of all this, isn't it?"

Castiel frowns. "What is this plan?"

"Easy. Being the blundering imbeciles angels always are, they won't suspect anything amiss if I offer to trade you for Dean."

"Because it sounds like something you would do," Kevin says.

"Precisely. It would get both of us inside and close to Dean where we can stage our grand rescue. Nothing to it."

"Except that we don't know how many there are," Castiel says. "And need I remind you that we're both human now? I doubt we're much of a match for even a few angels."

Crowley smirks. "Sam and Dean subverted the whole lot of you."

Castiel gets a very dark look in his eyes that is actually somewhat frightening. "We are not Sam and Dean."

The meaning is twofold, and Crowley picks up on that. One, that Castiel does not appreciate the comparison, and two, that he and Crowley don't have the same skills and determination and strength of character and all that nonsense.

"Do you want to just sit here then?" Crowley says. "I don't see any other options that don't include someone actually dying, which I thought we were trying to avoid."

"What do you care?" It's a challenge that Crowley is certain Castiel has been wanting to make ever since this whole thing started.

Perhaps a bit of honesty is merited at this point. "Dean could have killed me, but he didn't. I pay my debts."

The accusation is clear, and Crowley knows he's won the argument. There is still a debt, an unpayable one between them. The only reason they aren't killing each other right now is that somehow, they both matter to Dean, and it would upset him. It's possible that Dean might forgive Castiel if he did something nasty to Crowley, but Dean would be more likely to shoot Crowley the second he knew he'd done anything to Castiel. A bit unfair, in Crowley's opinion, but he doesn't get to make these decisions. He can only work with what he has on hand, and at the moment, that means teaming up with the one person in the universe he truly hates.

**~oOo~**

Dean's not sure at what point he falls asleep, wakes, sleeps, wakes again. He has no concept of time in this windowless, empty room. The angels haven't come through in a long time. Dean is starting to recognize the signs of hunger and dehydration, but more than anything, he is exhausted from standing so long. When he falls asleep, his weight rests on his arms, which are now burning from the exertion.

How long has it been? A day? Two? Does it even matter?

Dean shakes himself. He can't start thinking like that now. He has to focus. He may be a captive, but he's still got a mission. It ain't over yet.

Usually, these sort of thoughts would help Dean to come up with some sort of plan or at least work up the energy to struggle and shout a little, but he can't seem to find that in himself now. He's not giving up. No way in Hell that's happening. But maybe he's not giving it the same effort he used to because that's just not in him anymore. It never will be.

There's always been something missing, something empty in Dean. Something other people had that he just didn't. It never mattered as long as he had Sam to make up the difference. Dean remembered telling his brother once that they kept each other human. He was probably right. Dean's sure not feeling very human right now. He's not sure what he feels like, but everything seems to have been leading to this. His violent thoughts, his lack of concern for anyone outside of Cas.

And that's when Dean knows that whatever part of him is holding onto that shred of humanity will be obliterated if anything happens to his only friend. It doesn't seem as noble as the cause Dean used to fight for—or thought he was—but it's all he has, and it will do. Dean's not gonna die here, and neither is Cas. So whether he feels like it or not, he's gotta start coming up with a plan.

But would it kill them to give him a drink of water? A snack maybe? Dean doesn't think well on an empty stomach. He doesn't think all that well in general, but he's passable when he's well fed. As it stands, he can't seem to think of any angle, anything his captors would want more than Cas dead. There's no bargaining, no dealing. Dean doesn't have anything they want. He's useless to save his friend.

It's a feeling Dean is all too familiar with, and he's not in the mood to wallow in it. So, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls a the chains, just a little, and in the right direction that, after a million years, he might start to weaken their anchor points in the wall. It's not much, but it's all he can do.

And in case anyone is listening, he sings at the top of his lungs, very badly, just to be annoying.

* * *

**I am very excited to say that I am working on chapter eleven right now, and I have finally figured out how to make an em-dash in Google Docs. The latter might not seem all that important, but I feel that the use of certain punctuation can affect the feel of a sentence and thus, the effect on the reader. Those little hyphens just weren't doing it for me. Anyway, thanks for all the comments and such. I really appreciate hearing from everyone.**


	8. Choosing Sides

**Chapter Eight "Choosing Sides"**

The trouble is—if the trouble could be just one thing—that Dean falls asleep. He's too exhausted to stop himself when it comes. He never sleeps long, but long enough to dream just as he has been for the last few months. Like he had been before Cas came running into his room the other night, and Dean realized that he'd been calling his brother's name out loud.

They never cease. He sees Sam, beaten and bloody and laughing. It's not Sam. It's not even the way Dean remembers him. It like a demonic remnant, a bit of revenge from the monsters down below. But Dean knows it's got nothing to do with actual demons. It's all in his own head. It's his guilt, his fear, his desire to give in.

Nightmare Sam tells him the things Dean has always feared Sam was really thinking. That he's better off without his older brother, that he never wanted to stick around, that it was pity that made him stay so long. In the dream, in that subconscious moment, Dean knows that his brother doesn't love him, that death was a relief because it got him away from Dean's "protection."

It's only a moment. Dean wakes up, and he screams, "Sam!" And then he remembers that the dream isn't his brother, that Sam wasn't like that. It doesn't make it any easier to breathe in the emptiness that keeps closing in around him like a black hole.

Times like this, Dean needs to be alone. He needs space to gulp in the air that isn't there. That was why he hadn't let Cas in on what was going through his mind the last time. But he doesn't get that option now.

There are three angels standing around him. The one in front looks like a businessman and reminds Dean strangely of Dick Roman. He shouldn't really be surprised. Then there's a bigger guy who looks like he'd enjoy throwing a few punches. And finally, standing further back against the opposite wall is a deceptively normal looking guy who seems, if anything, bored with the whole thing.

It's the business guy who speaks first. "Do you know who I am?" he asks in an even voice.

"Not a clue," Dean replies as irritably as he can manage because he does not like to be interrupted when he's waking from a horrific dream. He's always preferred to live out his mental trauma in peace.

The man smiles slightly, but it's stiff and unconvincing. "My name is Bartholomew. I'm looking for someone, and I think you may know where he is."

"Go to Hell," Dean mutters.

"Can't. Your brother locked the gates."

Dean wants to stab the guy in the throat. He imagines himself doing it, and it gives him a certain thrill.

"Want me to convince him?" the big guy asks.

Bartholomew puts up his hand. "Let's give him a chance." He turns back to Dean. "I know you've had a rough time lately, so I'll be brief. We need Castiel. Tell us where he is, and you go home."

Dean glares at the guy he's already calling Bart in his head. "I don't know," he says, stalling.

"Then call him."

Call him? They don't know. They haven't figured out Cas is human and can't hear Dean's prayers anymore. Dean's not going to be the one to tell them either. That could be the angle he needs to get them out of this alive.

"Not on your life," he says.

"You're willing to sacrifice yourself for a traitor?" Bart looks amused. Big guy looks impatient. Normal guy looks stoic.

"He didn't betray you. Metatron betrayed him. He was kicked out just like everybody else." Dean is sure this information is safe because it says nothing about Cas' lack of grace.

"You think that's all we care about." Bart paces back and forth in front of Dean. "There are so many other things. Has he not told you of the devastation in Heaven? Of his complete rejection of all of us?"

"No offense, but I kinda get where he's coming from."

The flash of blinding pain comes as a shock to Dean, mainly because nobody moves to cause it. When he can finally see straight again, Bart is looking much grumpier than before.

"I'll leave you with my colleagues," he says. "Perhaps you will change your mind."

Stupid as some angels can be, Bart should know better. Dean's been through far worse than these amateurs could ever inflict on him. Not that it will be pleasant, but it's not gonna come close to making him turn on Cas. Nothing could ever do that.

The big guy advances, pulling out a knife as he comes. "Finally something interesting happens around here," he says.

As he begins cutting, Dean sets his jaw and focuses on the blank face of the other angel and wonders how much worse it will be when he decides to step in.

**~oOo~**

"I don't think Dean will appreciate this," Castiel says as classical music blasts through the speakers of the Impala.

In the driver's seat, Crowley almost laughs. "Dean's not here," he replies.

"A fact of which I am well aware."

"What? You think he's better company than me?"

"Eminently. But that's not the point."

"When he gets himself captured, he must resign himself to the occasional commandeering of certain things."

"Even his radio station?"

"You actually like that noise?"

"It's catchy."

"It's barbaric."

"Better than this."

"You're joking! This is _Mozart_. Have you no taste? Of course you don't. You're like a child when it comes to humanity."

Castiel crosses his arms and stares through the windshield. He shouldn't let things like this bother him, but anything Crowley says seems to bother him. "You're driving too slow," he says.

Crowley spares a brief glance at Castiel. He doesn't say anything, but the vehicle accelerates. It's a small victory, and the only one Castiel is likely to achieve.

It doesn't take long for them to arrive at the abandoned housing development, and Crowley parks far enough away that the angels won't notice them too soon. As best they could determine, Dean is being kept in a house near the center of the area, which is probably the only good thing about Crowley's plan. Castiel has doubts about the rest.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks as they retrieve several pitchers of holy oil from the trunk of the Impala.

"More so than the first seventeen times you asked," Crowley replies tersely. He's beginning to let his facade drop, and it surprises Castiel.

"I suppose it's worth the risk," Castiel says. "And if it doesn't work—"

"It. Will. Work." Crowley insists.

"Will you let me finish?"

Crowley makes a show of turning his full attention toward Castiel which achieves the desired effect of being incredibly unnerving.

"I was going to say," Castiel continues, "that if it doesn't work, I don't blame you. If I have to, I'll die in there, just as long as you get Dean out."

Crowley doesn't reply for a moment and maintains a mask of impassivity. Then he tilts his head and forces a smirk. "You know Dean would never forgive me if I let _that _happen." He shakes his head. "Nobody's dying today."

There is no response appropriate to such a statement, so Castiel simply nods and walks off to complete his part of the plan. They are going to surround the entire neighborhood with holy oil in order to force the angels to turn Dean over to them. Failing that, Crowley will offer to trade Castiel. The backup plan is a little too close to the truth of what they'd be willing to do if there were no other choice. But Crowley's promise sticks in Castiel's mind. Could he possibly know what seems to be keeping Dean alive?

_I'm not gonna bail on you, Cas._

The words have echoed in his mind ever since Dean spoke them. Does that mean that Dean would give up on life if Castiel no longer existed? And how does Crowley know that when Castiel isn't sure of it himself?

It takes a long time to finish sealing off the subdivision with holy oil, and the whole time, Castiel is sure they will be spotted, but finally they meet up on the other side, and close the circle. Crowley almost looks giddy as he lights a match and tosses it to the ground.

"You made sure to keep the line unbroken?" he says with only the slightest hint of anxiety in his usually carefree tone.

"Yes," Castiel replies. "I've been doing this much longer than you have."

"Ever on such a scale though?" Crowley actually sounds proud of his idea.

"No," Castiel admits. "The principle still applies. How long do you think—"

Before Castiel can finish his thought a rather angry looking group of angels appear on the other side of the flames.

"You were saying?" Crowley says, looking smug and amused.

"What is the meaning of this?" says the foremost angel.

"I should think that would be clear," Castiel replies. "You took our friend." He forces himself to say _our _even though grouping himself with Crowley in anything is nauseating.

"This is foolish, even for you, Castiel," the angel says. "It will not take us long to douse these flames. Then what?"

"Actually, it was my idea," Crowley speaks up. "A rather brilliant one, in fact. You see, I never meant to leave here with him." Crowley jerks his head toward Castiel who tries his best to appear surprised. "This was just to get your attention. To make sure you understand that I won't accept less than a one hundred percent whole Dean Winchester. So, do we have a deal?"

The angel sneers at Crowley. "Why would I ever deal with the likes of you? The last of the demons."

"Actually, not. Human. Completely. Rather a bore, but it's better than the alternative."

"Locked in Hell for eternity would be too good for you."

"Really? You're moralizing at me? See, this is why I hate angels. So tedious. My terms are simple. You give me Dean, I give you Castiel. That's what you want isn't it?"

"Why should we trust you?"

"You shouldn't. But you have to know this bastard is in such a hurry to die for his only friend. Why do you think he hasn't run?"

The truth of it hits Castiel hard. Maybe Crowley was lying the whole time. Maybe he's just trying to save Dean at all costs and doesn't care what happens to Castiel either way. It doesn't matter, and that thought actually makes Castiel want to laugh. He never thought he'd come out of this alive. Why should Crowley believe any different?

The head angel seems to be considering Crowley's offer, though it's difficult to tell through the haze of the flames. Finally he nods.

"We will accept your terms. Put out the flames and come with me."

Castiel finds a nearby scrap of plywood large enough to walk over. He lays it over a section of fire, smothering it. The rest will go out on it's own. Then the two of them step across and begin what will certainly be a death march. Castiel isn't sure if the angels will let Dean and Crowley go. But he has to try. If they all die, at least none of them will have to live with it.

_Except Kevin_, Castiel thinks with a twinge of guilt.

* * *

**Words cannot express how frustrated I am with Sam right now. Gah! But Kevin! I was so glad to see a resolution to the question of his mother. In other news, I'm still working on chapter eleven. I don't do the whole after action hospital scenes very well. They always seem to last too long and get way too emotional. :P**


	9. Death's Door

**Chapter Nine "Death's Door"**

The big guy has been gone for a while when the calm one finally leaves his post against the opposite wall. Dean is having a hard time seeing straight. When the cutting didn't get the desired result out of Dean, the big guy had resorted to hitting him with rock hard fists. Dean has a feeling the guy was going easy to avoid killing him. He could feel his ribs cracking, and he's pretty sure some things are out of joint.

As it is, Dean is not excited to find out just what the silent one has in mind, but when he reaches out his hand with an undeniable look of compassion in his eyes, Dean knows.

"Don't," he manages to say. Taking enough breath to speak sends knives of pain through his torso.

The angel draws his hand back. "Why would you not want to be healed?" He speaks in a soft voice, almost too refined.

"Just so you can mess me up again?"

The angel nods. "I see. That makes sense." His sympathy seems to deepen if that's even possible. "They would only hurt you more. Perhaps they will kill you. Relieve you of pain forever."

That actually sounds really nice to Dean right about now. He has to remind himself that he's still got a reason to live, and he's made a promise. "What's pain?" Dean scoffs.

The angel gets a look of sadness in his eyes so deep, Dean can't help believing it's real. "There are some things no one can endure without losing a part of themselves."

What is he talking about? Is that a threat? "What're you gonna do to me?" Dean asks because he might as well know.

"Nothing. If you do not want me to heal you. That is all I can offer you at the moment."

"Who are you?" Dean has a feeling there's something more going on here than a bunch of grumpy angels out for revenge.

"It does not matter. I am no one."

"Why would you want to help me?"

The angel stares into Dean's eyes, making him want to look away, but he won't. "I believe we are, at heart, compassionate beings. We have forgotten." He stares at the blood and bruises, and Dean wonders if angels can cry because it looks like that's where this is going. "There is so much needless suffering. I cannot make it end on my own."

Wait, is he trying to make some kind of alliance? "What do you want?" Dean asks.

"Later," the angel says. "I will do what I can for you. You must have some patience yet."

The angel leaves the room, and Dean is more confused than he was before the guy started talking. Why would he be here if he wants to help? Is he a spy in Bartholomew's ranks? Is he trying to gain Dean's trust to find Castiel? Dean is pretty sure they call that psychological torture which he's never been all that good at. It takes too much time. Which means he also doesn't know how to fight it. He decides then that he won't speak to the quiet angel anymore. If he doesn't say anything, he can't accidentally lead them to Cas.

None of this helps with his still non-existent escape plan, and Dean finds himself hoping that the angel was telling the truth. That he wants to help. Because Dean could use some help right about now.

**~oOo~**

The neighborhood seems bigger than it did when Castiel walked halfway around it earlier. Maybe the angels are just walking slowly to unnerve them. It must be odd for them, he thinks, to have to deal with humans in this capacity. Even odder, Castiel doesn't feel all that strange _not _being an angel. He can't believe he's getting used to humanity. It's about to be over anyway.

They take a meandering route toward the center of the subdivision, through block after block of empty ghosts of homes that never were. It's an eerie feeling, and Castiel isn't sure why. Perhaps the vacant buildings remind him too much of the four vacant bodies that exist together in an underground shelter. He never thought of emptiness this way before. That they are all living in some kind of between stage, not dead yet, but well on their way. Or in Castiel's case, nearly there.

He has abandoned all hope of them getting out of this alive. He is certain of his own demise and suspicious of Crowley and Dean's. Maybe they'll get out. Maybe Dean will keep holding onto life for Kevin's sake. Castiel can't bear to think of him doing so for Crowley.

They eventually arrive at a more finished house in the middle of a block. The windows still have stickers on them. Once inside, Castiel notes the absence of any furniture or fixtures. He wonders if this is really where they are keeping Dean. The location spell did lead them here, so he must be close.

Crowley stops in the entryway, and stands between Castiel and the angels. "Where is he?" he says.

"This way," the head angel gestures toward a hallway.

Crowley doesn't move. "I think we've come far enough."

"You offered us a trade. Do you want to collect your half?" the angel leaves no room for argument, and Castiel is feeling less confident about any of them surviving this. Which is not part of his plan.

"Where is your leader?" Castiel says. He knows he's just a prisoner at this point, but he hopes Crowley will back him up. They don't have much leverage right now, other than their angel blades and a couple of flasks of holy oil tucked into their pockets. Not much against three full powered angels.

"Out," the angel says. "He has more important concerns than one pathetic traitor."

"Then why bother?"

"Your friend just made it so easy. I suspect he's losing his mind after his brother's death. Apparently humans are susceptible to such things."

Castiel feels the strange sensation of wanting to punch the angel in the face. He thinks Dean would be proud of that.

"Lovely as it's been," Crowley says, "I do have to be on my way, so why don't you bring Dean out, and we can leave?"

The angel nods to the other two, who don't go into the hallway, but rather approach with their eyes on Castiel. They can't afford to fight back just now. Not when Dean isn't in sight.

Castiel feels their hands gripping too tightly to his arms to prevent his escape.

"Is this really necessary?" Crowley complains.

"If you want the Winchester, come get him," the angel says.

There's no other choice. Crowley has to go. He has to go through with the deal, and Castiel is shocked to see a flicker of remorse in his expression.

"Fine," Crowley agrees, faking a smile. "But I don't want this one out of my sight until I get what I came for." He points at Castiel.

The angel relents. "Bring him."

The four of them move into the hallway, head angel first, then Crowley, with Castiel and his jailers bringing up the rear. They come out into a small sitting room with a door across from them. The angel opens the door to what looks like it was intended to be a bathroom. Castiel can't see from this angle, but he feels a shudder of contempt rolling off Crowley as the door opens.

"Bad form," Crowley says, barely containing his anger. "Trading me damaged goods?"

Damaged goods.

Pulling against the grasp of the two angels, Castiel finally gets a look at Dean as they move closer, and it's surprising he's even alive. His body is covered in cuts and bruises. Blood soaks through his clothing and still oozes from some of the deeper wounds. His eyes are closed, and he's barely breathing. So many reactions go through Castiel's mind, but he can't physically do anything. His arms are pinned. He's helpless.

So, he settles for words. "Son of a bitch." It doesn't sound the same coming from him, but it works. "You didn't have to hurt him!"

"_I_ didn't," the lead angel said. "Bartholomew's thugs took care of that."

"Bartholomew?" Suddenly it starts to make sense.

"Yes. Though why he thought to ally with Gadreel is beyond me."

Gadreel. The deserter. It's at this moment that Castiel decides he will do whatever it takes to get Dean and Crowley out. He'll die fighting. No surrender here.

By now, Crowley has moved into the small room, looking Dean over with a dark gaze. Castiel is close enough he can smell the blood, amongst other unpleasant things in the room. Seeing Dean chained and bleeding made Castiel want to vomit and kill something all at once. He settles for giving a meaningful look at Crowley and hoping he notices.

He does.

Before the angels know what's happening, Crowley has reached into his jacket for his angel blade and stabbed backward at the lead angel. He doesn't pause for breath as he pulls the blade forward and flings it with uncanny precision at the angel on Castiel's right.

With one arm free, Castiel reaches for his own blade, but before he can get his hand around it, he feels cold metal at his throat. The element of surprise has evaporated. Crowley is unarmed, save a little holy oil, which will definitely kill Castiel as well as the angel holding a blade to his jugular. It is a sacrifice Castiel is willing to make.

_Do it,_ he thinks. _Just do it, and get Dean out of here._

But Crowley hesitates. They have failed. Castiel is just beginning to taste the bile rising up in his mouth at the thought of giving up when he feels a sharp pain in his shoulder. The angel releases his grip on Castiel and falls backward. As Castiel turns to see what's happened, he notices a blade sticking through the angel's chest and a tall man behind him, holding the handle of said blade.

There is a moment of stunned silence before the man steps forward and breaks Dean's chains with a mere flick of his hand. "You must go now. I will hold them off," he says.

"Who are you?" Castiel asks.

"Some other time. Run. Now."

Castiel turns back to see Crowley leaning over to lift Dean to his feet. As he does so, there are sounds of a scuffle coming from the direction of the entryway. Their mysterious savior has vanished. Castiel moves to help Crowley, and they drag a half conscious Dean through the opposite door they came in. Thankfully, they soon come upon a back door and pick up speed as they duck between the ghost houses.

Any moment, Castiel is sure the other angels will catch up to them, and they will all be killed. But the enemy never comes. The trip to the car goes much faster than the one to the house, but it feels longer with Dean weighing them down, his blood smearing over their hands and clothing. Crowley bemoans the cost of dry cleaning. The humor keeps Castiel running if nothing else.

They reach the car and half collapse as Crowley lessens his hold to reach for the back passenger door, and Castiel falls under Dean's weight.

Lying on the ground, bleeding, taking painful shallow breaths, Dean looks worse than Castiel has ever seen him.

"Cas.." he speaks in a faint voice, and Castiel finds himself mesmerized. "It's okay, Cas..." What is he saying? "Everything's... gonna be okay."

Castiel isn't sure why Dean feels the need to reassure him until his eyes slip closed, and his breathing halts. Last words. Comfort. A goodbye.

Castiel doesn't know when his fists dig into Dean's shirt and he begins shaking the man so hard that blood pours over his hands. It's only when Crowley grabs him by the shoulder and wrenches him away that Castiel recognizes what he's doing.

Crowley doesn't say anything, but leans over and puts his fingers on Dean's neck. What does that mean? Some kind of test? Castiel can't remember for the life of him.

"He's still alive, you moron," Crowley says. "Help me get him in the car before he really bleeds to death."

* * *

**I kind of suck at action scenes, but I think this part turned out okay. I suppose it's more about the emotion of it anyway. I think the next chapter is my favorite so far, so be sure to come back next week. It's going to be amazing. I hope.**


	10. Have a Little Faith in Me

**Chapter Ten "Have a Little Faith in Me"**

Dean opens his eyes, and he feels like he's been here before. He's in a hospital room, lying in a bed, watching himself sleep. He's dying. It's only surprising because Dean had expected it much sooner. He looks around, anticipating Death or Tessa or both, but they're not here. He walks out into the hallway, and he knows no one can see or hear him; that's not what bothers him. There should be a reaper here to take him. He'd go without a fight.

Instead, Dean finds himself in a small waiting room, looking down to see what looks like a child with his knees pulled up into his chest, huddled against the wall. It's Cas. Dean's seen his friend in a bad way before, but never like this. The blood on his hands and clothes is Dean's, but that doesn't make it any less upsetting to see.

Dean only catches a brief glimpse of the red-rimmed eyes that seem to have lost their vibrant quality. It could be a trick of the light or Dean's out of body state, but the piercing blue seems to have faded to a lifeless gray.

For a moment, Cas is all there is in the waiting room. Dean can't tear his gaze away, and he's not sure why. The unmasked pain stirs something deep inside that Dean has no name for, but he knows he's felt it many times before. For Sam.

Dean has to look away to keep himself from screaming. The sound sticks in his throat. No one would hear him anyway.

The next thing Dean sees is Crowley sitting nearby with a phone in his hand, but staring across the room at the opposite wall. The only interesting thing there is a tacky, cliched watercolor of a country road in the fall. It seems too bright by comparison to the gray eyes that Dean is trying to forget.

He turns back from looking at the painting to Crowley, who hasn't moved. Dean can see that the phone is open to a conversation with Kevin. The last message says "Made it to the hospital. Doesn't look good though."

Dean wonders why he's here, trapped between life and death. And if he's really dying, shouldn't someone be coming for him?

The silence in the waiting room feels wrong. There should be doctors and nurses passing through. Cas should say something. Like "Dean will be okay." Shouldn't he believe that? Why should he? Dean hasn't really been okay for a long time.

So, maybe this funeral home atmosphere is appropriate. They're losing him, and it hurts. Dean knows that pain like his knows his car, his favorite gun, his own face. It's a constant presence for him, but seeing it reflected like this is unbearable. That's why he can't look at Cas. But he knows he's there. Just in Dean's peripheral vision, falling apart in his own way.

Dean wishes he could speak. That they would hear him, and those agonized looks would fade away. But Dean's dying, isn't he? He can't ever take away that pain. He's already said goodbye. He told Cas everything would be okay, but he should have known that it won't. They're still not over Sam. For Dean to die now will crush them.

"Having second thoughts?"

The voice startles Dean out of his focus, and he turns to see the one he's been expecting, standing in the opening of the hallway. Death.

"I would apologize for the delay," Death says, "but it was intentional."

"Why?" Dean asks. "If I'm dying, what's it matter? I don't need to see this."

"You are not necessarily dying." Death walks over to the vending machine and puts his hand straight through the glass for a bag of chips. "I'd offer you some, but you are a spiritual form and cannot eat. To answer your questions, though: yes, it does matter, and you do need to see this because your fate is not yet determined."

"So this is a guilt trip to make me decide to hold onto life or something?"

"It wasn't my idea."

Death flicks cheese dust off his fingers, and suddenly, they aren't in the hospital anymore. They're standing at the entrance to the library in the bunker, and Kevin is sitting at the table, hands clasped. His phone is still alight with Crowley's message. He lets out a long sigh and looks up at the ceiling.

"Come on, Dean," he whispers. "Hang on. I can't do this without you."

Dean glares at Death. "This isn't real. It's some kind of trick. Why are you doing this?"

"I told you," Death says through a mouthful of chips, "it wasn't my idea." And without another word, he vanishes.

"Hey!" Dean shouts into the air. "Don't leave me here!"

But there is no reply. The light in the library appears to brighten, and Dean turns back to see the library of six months ago. He sees himself sitting in a comfortable chair across the table, but most of all, he sees Sam. Or Sam's back as he leans over a musty old book. Dean remembers this day. He told some stupid joke that actually made Sam laugh.

"I can't watch this." Dean doesn't realize he's saying the words out loud until they're out of his mouth.

But the scene doesn't stop. Death does not return. Dean feels his disembodied heart twist with every one of his own smiles, every deep laugh he elicits from his brother. Sam had so rarely laughed in those last days. Dean is grateful that at least he can't see Sam's face. Seeing that smile, those eyes, might actually kill him. He already wishes he were dead.

The vision ends, and everything begins to fade, but Sam doesn't. The memory is long gone when Dean hears Sam saying words he doesn't remember.

"I'm sorry I made you watch that," he says. "It's one of my favorite memories to revisit. I thought it would be comforting. Obviously not." Sam turns with those last words, and Dean takes an involuntary step back.

"You're not my brother," he says. "What is this? Who are you?"

Sam stays very still, as if not to spook a frightened animal. "Dean, you're dying. In that space between life and death, it is possible for us to meet. Physically, we aren't in the same place. You're in a hospital, and I'm in a whole other dimension."

"You're lying. This is a dream, a hallucination. Just like the others."

Sam actually looks hurt by that. "Dean, I saw you were dying, and the reapers were circling. Ash helped me get in touch with Death, and he said there was still a chance for you."

"You're trying to save me? After you went and died on me, why should I listen to you?"

"It was my time. It's not yous."

"It's been past my time for years."

"Dean, think of Cas, Kevin, even Crowley. They still need you."

"I needed you!"

"I'm sorry. I couldn't see a way out. I had to finish something. I know you don't want to hear this, but I did it for you."

Dean has stopped doubting this is Sam. He's too good, too unpredictable to be Dean's imagination. "I know," he says. "You left me one hell of a mess to clean up."

"I didn't mean for you to get saddled with all that. I actually thought dying would take some of the weight off you."

Dean shakes his head. "You never got it, did you? Looking after you wasn't just my job, my responsibility; it was all I wanted, the only thing that ever made me... happy." Dean sighs and takes a few steps into the room, closer to Sam. "Taking care of you made me human. I don't even know what I am anymore.

Sam smiles faintly. "You're my brother. You're Dean Winchester. And you don't give up. Ever."

"So, this is all some kind of cosmic pep-talk? You show me how much everyone needs me, and I decide to life a little longer, even though you know it's killing me?"

Sam shakes his head. "Not that they need you—which they do—but that losing you would hurt them. You know how that feels, and you promised Cas you wouldn't bail on him."

Dean can almost find it funny that he feels like punching Sam after that comment. "That's not your promise," he says darkly. "You don't get to throw that in my face."

Sam backs off. He stays seated, but there's a look in his eyes that says he's letting go. "I'm sorry," he says. "I know I've got no right to ask you this, but don't do it for me. Just, whatever you do, don't give up now. You've got no idea how bad I want you here, to have the real you, and not just these memories, but Dean—you've got more life, more to do. I hate it, but they need you more than I do."

"When you needed me—"

"You were right there. You didn't let me die alone."

"Well, Crowley was there." Dean can't help it because this is really Sam, and Sam can take a joke.

He suppresses a smile, but Dean knows it's there. "He _doesn't_ count."

"Didn't then. Maybe you're right, Sam. Kills me to say it, but maybe you are."

"This is the hardest thing you will ever do."

Dean tries to laugh, but it doesn't come out right. "Seems my life's full of those lately.

"It won't be forever." Sam seems to know that's no consolation. "Someday, you will die, but not here, not now."

"How much longer?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know. Ash is a genius, but he can't see the future. I don't think Death even knows for sure."

"What if I never do? What if this is my only chance?"

"Dean, everyone dies."

"Yeah, but it's never stuck."

"It will."

"How do you know."

"Because it has for me. There are some things I can't explain, that you'll have to see for yourself. But I know you will be here one day. I guess you'll just have to trust me."

"Trust you?" Dean isn't sure whether to be surprised by this or not.

"Yes," Sam replies. "I know you don't have faith in a lot of things, but if you could spare some for me. Just this once."

Dean shook his head. "Always, Sammy."

_I love you._

Sam smiles. "Thank you."

_I love you too._

Sam stands and steps closer to Dean. He reaches out his hand, and Dean is surprised when he feels the weight of it resting on his shoulder. It's not a physical encounter, but it's no less real real for that. This is the real Sam. The one he's been unable to see every night since he left that rundown church. It's as if the nightmare Sam never existed. Dean feels Sam's arms wrap around him, and that's when everything starts to fade. Dean can't feel his arms and legs anymore. Everything goes black. Nothing remains, save the lingering scent of Sam and the memory.

**~oOo~**

Dean's first breath of air once he's back in his body is more painful than breathing has a right to be. He's surrounded by bodies in white, pulling and tugging and poking at him.

He's alive. But he remembers. He saw Sam. He chose to live. For Cas. For Kevin and Crowley. He needs to see them.

Dean tries to call out, but it comes up as a coughing noise. His throat is burning from having a breathing tube, but it's gone now.

"Try to stay calm," a voice says. "You're all right, but you need to stay still."

Finally, Dean feels the pain of those hundreds of cuts and bruises and broken ribs that Big Guy gave him. Everything hurts, his head is pounding, and he's thirsty.

He manages to get out one raspy syllable: "Cas..."

"What's he saying?" a nurse asks.

It's then Dean realizes that there aren't nearly as many people in the room as he thought there were. Just one doctor and a couple of nurses.

"Cas." He says it louder this time, wincing as the name claws its way up his throat.

"I think he's asking for his friends," the doctor says. "Try to relax. You can see them in just a minute."

Dean can handle that. Probably.

"They said you were attacked last night; do you remember?" the doctor asks. "Just nod yes or no."

Dean thinks it's safest just to act like he doesn't, so he shakes his head.

"That's okay," the doctor says. "Just try not to move too much. You've suffered multiple lacerations and contusions as well as a few broken ribs. It'll take some time to heal, but you'll be okay. I was concerned about the blood loss, but we got you just in time. For now, don't try to talk or move. I know it will be frustrating, but you'll feel better sooner if you take it easy. Now, I'm going to let your friends see you for a few minutes. They can fill you in on what happened."

Dean doesn't need to be filled in. He knows how he got here. His mind is surprisingly clear, though he can see the pain killers dripping into his IV. After everything that's happened, Dean can't shut his mind off. He feels the pain, but it's like background noise. When the door opens again, and one of the nurses leads Cas and Crowley into the room, Dean can't help thinking he could be with Sam right now, and he feels like a selfish bastard. But he's here. He's made that impossible choice, and that's got to count for something.

The medical professionals leave the room, granting a strange sort of reprieve. Crowley puts on a brave face, but Cas still looks almost as bad as when Dean saw him in the waiting room. Crowley walks around the end of the bed and eyes Dean critically.

"You look like Hell," he says.

"Shut up," Dean rasps back.

"The doctor said you weren't supposed to talk for some reason," Cas says.

Crowley seems amused as he picks up a cup of ice chips that a nurse left on the table near Dean's feet and brings it to Dean.

"What's that?" Cas asks.

"Ice," Crowley replies. "His throat is sore from intubation, and he hasn't had any water since God knows when. The ice helps."

"Oh."

"No one expects you to know these things."

Dean is surprised by Crowley's tone, half condescending, half reassuring. He wonders when that started. He can't help smiling as he watches them. In the waiting room, they were two separate, terrified individuals. Now, they sound like two guys who've fought together. They're on the same page. No doubt, they were forced into it, but Dean isn't sorry for that. Maybe getting captured was stupid, but if this is the result, it's more good than bad. It's much more complicated than that, but at the moment, Dean can only see the upside.

Once he can say more than two words at once, he'll deal with the downsides.

* * *

**First off, a bit of a public service announcement: you may have noticed a troll going around in the Supernatural fandom leaving rude comments on people's stories. If you come across this individual, _do not engage_. Report and block the monster and move on. The only way to kill these things is not to feed them. I am being metaphorical, of course, I don't mean that we should actually kill anyone.**

**Secondly, this is probably my favorite chapter so far because I got to have fun with the whole out of body thing and Sam in general. He's actually really fun to write, and I'm missing out on that a bit by having him dead in this story. I wanted to show that he's still in existence somewhere, and just because we can't see him doesn't mean that he doesn't have his own feelings about what's going on. Hopefully it all makes sense within the story itself. Oh, and I love writing Death.**

**Chapter eleven, on the other hand, is a bit sticky. I'm going to keep working on it this week and try to get some more chapters done so I have a nice cushion when I go to update again.**


	11. Fine Is a Relative Term

**Chapter Eleven "Fine Is a Relative Term"**

Dean thinks the dreams are over. He thinks his encounter with Sam in his dying state will wipe away all the ugliness he had faced each night. He thinks that he will finally have some peace.

Dean is wrong.

It's his third day in the hospital, though he was in unconscious for the first day. They're starting to lessen his pain medication, allowing him to sleep more naturally. Apparently, that isn't such a good thing for his subconscious.

Dean's not sure why he ever thought the nightmares would end. Maybe that moment, near death, he had some kind of breakthrough, but it hasn't lasted. Because he's still here, and Sam isn't, and that's always going to be wrong.

When he wakes, feeling disoriented and frantic, he doesn't really notice that he's thrashing and screaming until he loses consciousness and wakes again to discover he had to be sedated, and he's torn his stitches, and everything hurts worse than before.

Cas is always there to tell him what's going on. Dean is grateful for the support, but most of the time, he'd rather be alone. He can't say that, though. He can't say much of anything, and he doesn't feel like explaining just yet.

Kevin showed up at some point the first time Dean woke, but he doesn't remember much from that visit since he was starting to feel groggy again from the meds that were very strong at that point.

Now, Dean feels too much. He notices every time one of his friends comes into the room, every sympathetic look or offer of some form assistance or other.

Eventually, Kevin goes back home to get to work on tracking the angels, and Crowley can't seem to sit still for five minutes, but Cas stays. He's beginning to get a rather wilted look that means he hasn't slept well or showered in a few days. Dean wonders if he plans on staying the whole time. Probably.

By the end of the third day, Dean is starting to get his voice back, and he knows there's a lot he needs to bring everyone up to speed on: the mysteriously helpful angel, this Bartholomew guy, even seeing Sam. Dean doesn't want to talk about Sam, but he knows it's long past time to get it all out there. He's not the only one who lost something. He doesn't want to share that with anyone, but he doesn't have much of a choice.

But at the moment, Cas is looking particularly beat, and Dean thinks that now's not the time for all that.

"You should get some sleep," he says, still keeping his voice low to avoid strain.

Cas looks at him curiously. "I'm fine."

Dean shakes his head, one of the few movements that doesn't hurt. "You've been sitting in that chair for three days."

"Two. I spent the first day in the waiting room."

"Details. You're human, and you have to sleep."

"Four hours, right?"

Dean's not sure if he should laugh, but it would hurt too much to try. "Whatever you need."

"I've slept."

"Cat naps. Doesn't count."

"You want me to leave?"

"No, I—well..."

"You could just say so."

"It's not like that."

"But it is dangerous. Bartholomew's people took you to get to me."

"Totally not what I was talking about."

"It's true, though. They will keep coming after me. You know that." Cas seems to have been waiting for an opportunity to bring this up. He says it so matter-of-factly as if talking about the weather.

Dean sighs. "Then we'll deal with it."

"They would have killed you," Cas continues, his voice losing a little of that control. "No matter what I did, we both would have died, and after everything I've done, that's... one more thing I can't have on my conscience."

"What are you saying, Cas?" Dean has a feeling he already knows, and this is not a conversation he wants to have. Ever.

"I'm saying it would be safer for you—and everyone—"

"Don't."

"Dean."

"No. Don't you dare. Don't you walk away; don't—don't you dare leave me, Cas."

Cas gives Dean that pained look he used to get sometimes when they were in Purgatory and he knew he wasn't going to leave with Dean. At this point Dean is about ready to climb out of this bed and shake some sense into his friend. But until he heals, all he has are words.

"You can't save my life and then take it away like that," Dean says as forcefully as he can manage. "You are the only reason I'm still here, and if the angels want you, they gotta go through me first."

Cas smiles grimly. "That shouldn't be too difficult right now."

"You know what I mean, Cas. We've faced worse than them before; we can do it again."

"Not like this." Cas shakes his head. "Not when they're so disorganized and unruly. They have nothing to lose, and they want me dead."

Cas is giving up, and Dean needs to put a stop to this right now.

"And we've got everything to lose," he says. "But there are four of us, and that's more than we've had in a long time. I'm fighting with all I got to keep us alive here, so don't you tell me we can't do this. We have to. I know I'm asking a lot of you, but it's no more than you've asked of me. And I wouldn't ask if I thought you couldn't do it. But I didn't claw my way back from the edge just to watch you give up. I won't."

Cas stares at his hands. "Your faith in me is... comforting."

"Good, 'cause I'm just about done with this whole motivational speaking thing."

"You're the one in the hospital." Cas looks up with a weak smile. "I should be the one offering consolation."

"Keep it. I'm fine."

"Are you?" Cas isn't talking about physical injuries.

Normally, Dean would brush it off, but he knows if he wants Cas to stick around, he has to be honest. Not one of his strong suites.

"I been better," Dean admits. "But I been worse too. Like I said, we got four people working together, and that's more than I thought when..." Dean allows a long sigh to escape his lips. "I thought I'd lost everything. But I didn't."

"You mean that?" Cas seems surprised.

Dean understands why such a statement would be shocking. "Yeah," he says. "I always said you were like family. 'Bout time I started acting like it. And Kevin too. Hell, even Crowley's not completely horrible."

"Not completely," Cas agrees reluctantly.

"He still hate you?"

"I'm not sure. He seemed to... warm a little while we were looking for you. And he did save my life, but I'm assuming that was for your benefit as well."

"It's a start."

"The problem is, he's right. At least, that I betrayed him, but I did the same to you."

"Guess I'm just more forgiving."

"Yes, you are. I've always known that."

It's an odd conversation, and Dean's not entirely sure where it's going to end up, but he's glad he managed to skip over talking about Sam. He knows he'll still have to at some point, but not right now.

"I do have one question," Cas says.

"What's that?" Dean replies.

"Did Crowley—did he kill Meg?"

It's only going to make things worse, but Dean knows he has to tell the truth. "Yes."

**~oOo~**

It takes a few more days for Dean to be able to sit up. He finally manages to convince Cas to go home for a while, and he notices that Crowley stays when Cas is gone. They're guarding him.

The dreams get worse, and his doctor takes to sedating Dean every night so he won't wake up. That just leaves him trapped in the nightmares longer. The doctor tries to get him to talk to someone about the "trauma." Dean doesn't bother telling him that it has nothing to do with how he ended up in the hospital, and pretends he still doesn't remember anything. He just wants to go home, for this all to be over. At home, he can talk to Cas. He can tell the others about all that happened without fear of being interrupted. He can feel safe again.

It's weird to Dean that he wants that. He needs to be somewhere familiar, even though it reminds him of Sam. Maybe because of that. He knows the dreams are just dreams. He tells himself so every chance he gets, but when he's in it, Dean can't tell the difference. Sam hates him. Sam never came to him when he was dying. That's just a fantasy.

In the daylight, Dean knows what's real. He knows that Sam wants him to keep fighting. He knows the vision was real, and the nightmares aren't. He knows he has to talk to Cas about the whole thing. They say Dean can go home in a few days, but this can't wait.

"I saw Sam," Dean says without preamble.

It's early afternoon, and Cas is standing by the window, staring out onto the parking lot below. "In the dreams?" he asks.

"No—Yes. But I mean I saw him when I was dying."

"You weren't dying." Cas doesn't turn around.

"You're not listening to me. I _saw_ Sam."

"It's only natural."

Dean is feeling better, and he could almost get out of bed and make Cas pay attention, but he'll save that for when he has no other options. "I wasn't dreaming, Cas," he says. "I was about to die, and Sam was there."

Cas finally turns from the window and stares intently at Dean. "How is that possible?"

Dean does his best to explain about Ash and Death. By the end of it, he's still not sure if Cas believes him. Honestly, Dean wouldn't believe it if it hadn't happened to him.

The former angel narrows his eyes, deep in thoughts. "Theoretically, it is possible, but highly unlikely."

"It was Sam," Dean repeats. He can't remember the last time he said his brother's name so much. He hasn't wanted to until now.

Cas sits down on the edge of the bed near Dean's knees. "Okay," he says. "What did he say?"

Dean has been planning on this, but now that it's here, he has a hard time getting the words out. "He—he said I couldn't give up. That I had to keep fighting for you, and..." The and doesn't matter.

"Why would he say that?" Cas asks, surprisingly. "Why wouldn't he want you to be with him?"

_"You've got no idea how bad I want you here, to have the real you, and not just these memories, but Dean—you've got more life, more to do. I hate it, but they need you more than I do."_

"He did—he does," Dean says. "But he said I needed to stay here."

Cas faces the window again. "Well, if it really was Sam, I'm grateful for that."

_If_? Dean isn't sure why, but he needs Cas to believe him. "It really was Sam. You're just gonna have to trust me on that."

"You've been dreaming about him so long..."

"I've been dreaming about something, but it ain't Sam."

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"I'm absolutely certain."

Cas nods. "Okay. I believe you."

"Thanks."

"I'm still not sure why you felt the need to tell me."

"Because somebody else needed to know. Like if I didn't say it out loud, maybe it never happened."

Cas looks at Dean again. "I understand. Why is it that we can know things are true while they're happening, but doubt them later?"

"'Cause good things don't happen to us, Cas."

"I know."

**~oOo~**

Going home is an experience of mixed emotions. Dean is happy to be leaving the hospital for a place he might finally have some time to himself. He's happy that he can stand on his own two feet. For a while, anyway. It's more of an effort than it should be to get to the car and make the trip back to the bunker. And there's the fact that Crowley is driving his Baby and listening to some girly music. Every time Dean tries to change the station, Crowley swats his hand away. Kevin makes supportive comments from the backseat, but it doesn't do much good.

When they get back, Cas has set up Dean's room to make it easier to get around. He's also managed to make lunch, which is canned soup and some rather burnt looking grilled cheese sandwiches. Dean's not about to complain. He can put on a happy face for now. He's pretty sure that's the only way anyone will leave him alone more than a few minutes. He's half afraid they're going to set up a bedside vigil in his room, alternating every few hours. But they don't.

Dean is alone at last, safe in his private haven. What he wouldn't give for a crummy motel room and the sound of his brother's steady breathing right now.

Dean tries to sleep, but every time he closes his eyes, he keeps seeing Sam's face and fearing what happens next. He knows if he takes the drugs the doctor gave him to help him sleep, he'll get stuck in those dreams. Maybe it's the best he can hope for with the alternative being no sleep at all or waking up suddenly and jarring his sensitive ribs. He debates for a long time until he realizes that the last option isn't really an option at all because he's not going to get to sleep on his own. Now that's he's off 24/7 pain meds, his mind is more alert and he can feel every stab, even when he's not moving a muscle. If he doesn't sleep, the others will worry. Dean can't stand it when people worry over him.

Finally, he staggers out of bed and grabs the sleeping pills on the nightstand. He takes a couple without water and cringes as he gets back into bed. He's faced the dreams every night for the past few months. He can face them again.

* * *

**I'm not particularly thrilled with this chapter. There are parts I really like, but the whole being stuck in the hospital thing is something I've always found tedious. I wanted there to be a reasonable amount of time between when Dean woke up and when he was able to leave since he was pretty beat up. Still, it feels wrong to have him just lying there talking. He's so much more dynamic than that. Thankfully, there's only one chapter of that, and Dean will get back in action soon.**


End file.
